


Stolen Innocence

by Kinkylittlewolf, phoenixreal



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ableism, Autism, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bi-Gender Character(s), Bipolar Disorder, Bisexual Male Character, Consensual Kink, Cropping, Demisexuality, Dominance, Dungeon, F/F, F/M, FWUCollections, Genderfluid Character, Homophobia, Hospitals, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Past Drug Use, Pegging, Piercings, Public Blow Jobs, Racism, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinkylittlewolf/pseuds/Kinkylittlewolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixreal/pseuds/phoenixreal
Summary: A Bartender seeking Bonds and Understanding.An Artist seeking Self-identity and Purpose.An Actor seeking Fulfillment and Connection.A Doctor seeking Acceptance and Healing.A Journey through the Winding Paths ofTrauma, Recovery and Truths Laid Bare.When desperate criminals find an easy target in the autistic neurosurgeon Kieran Sung, the young doctor is soon at the mercy of a local Irish mob boss with a set of perverse desires. Kieran is pulled unwillingly into circumstances that bring his world crashing down around him. He discovers comfort in ways he never imagined, and takes the hand of a childhood friend that desires nothing else but to help him. Circumstances bind him to a tattoo artist named Varick Jaeger, an actor named Carmine Deangelo, and a bartender named Devan Sullivan. Together with this unlikely trio, Kieran must learn how to handle the upheaval in a life he begins to see desperately needs change.Stolen Innocence, part one of the Doctor's Training Trilogy, is a story of healing that examines D/s culture, the complexities of polyamory, and how people often deal with mental and physical trauma.





	1. The Doctor and the Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> This is a preview only. Visit the website for more information. Please Note: Book contains graphic descriptions of violence and rape/non con. There is none in these preview chapters. 
> 
> Art by Leah Bliss  
> http://www.facebook.com/phoenixreal  
> http://chainsoffate.ashesofreality.com to find out more.
> 
> Dedication - For the Misfits
> 
> On the Training of Doctors is dedicated to everyone in the world that defies conventions. It is dedicated to those that take the chance to be themselves in a world that demands compliance to norms. We dedicate this book to everyone in the queer, BDSM Lifestyler/kinkster, geek/nerd, neurodivergent, pagan, autistic, writing, transgender communities, and any other community that dares to defy the "norms". There is nothing that takes more courage than to stand up and be yourself when those around us demand that we conform.
> 
> We refuse to conform. We refuse to comply. We are beautiful and unique. We are never going to go away, and we are going

****

* * *

 

**Preface - From Beverly**

I suppose a preface means that as one of your authors, I should have something to say, right? I've given a bit of personal information in the author bio, but really, when you're about to begin a journey this intense and that spans over three books, you probably want to hear a bit more than an author blurb.

About four years ago, I was busy investigating BDSM and D/s culture for a little fanfiction story I was writing. That story, though very rough around the edges, caught the attention of my co-author, Kenyon. She ended up messaging me to tell me that she thought I'd actually approached the subject well, but as a person involved in the Lifestyle I was writing about, she had some tips for me. Well, readers, that was the beginning of this story, because as we became friends despite the distance between Missouri and California. Then, the idea became, you know, this would make an amazing original story.

Here we are, four years later, one successful Kickstarter, and one book done. What started out as a gritty, violent thriller with an erotic edge became so much more to us. This story has gone from being one book, to the first book of a trilogy, to the current form of a trilogy unto itself.

Here, you will find characters that are bits and pieces of your authors. For me, my four main characters all reflect parts of myself. Kieran is my autistic nature, my scholarly leanings, and my submissive nature. Devan is my bigender and pansexual self, as an idealized version. Devan also has my pagan roots, and all my insecurities. Carmine represents my problems with impulse control and bipolar disorder and all my body image issues. Varick reveals my Dominant and protective nature, as well as my demi-sexual traits.

These characters may seem unnecessarily diverse at first glance, but in the real world, people are far more diverse than portrayed in media. This book and all those that follow are meant to represent that. Kenyon's characters also contain bits and pieces of her, as I'm sure you'll see.

So on to the technical bit about the story you're about to embark upon. This book features a lot of things from the world of BDSM (Bondage and Domination, Domination and Submission, Sadism and Masochism). This is considered a Lifestyle by those in it, but there are plenty people that simply engage in kinky behavior.

Situations presented may mimic real life situations of one or both the authors, and may be based on experiences of others interviewed and worked with by the authors. The world of BDSM is a wide and varied one. There is no one right method, and we hope that in this work we can introduce the reader to the various possibilities. At the end of the novel, you will find a few pages with author recommended reading and a handful of links to some helpful places online.

Many background characters are based on real life individuals. These people have granted permission to the authors to use a character in their likeness. Names and features have been altered for the purpose of anonymity of those involved. The dungeon mentioned is created as an idealized dungeon based on experience of the writers, and features many things that may or may not found in real life dungeons. Many aspects of the dungeon are realistic, and may be found across the world. Please note, a dungeon exactly like Strawberry's Black does not exist. Dungeons have a variety of rules. Some places do not allow nudity, others do not allow penetration of any kind (even with toys), and others have even stricter restrictions on activities. Private dungeons are a different matter, and should be approached with caution if you are not familiar with the owner.

If you are interested in the BDSM community, contact a local group or use social media to visit verified safe BDSM sites. Do not engage in activities that seem to you to be unsafe. BDSM should never feel like abuse, and it is always completely consensual. Kink culture is varied and expansive, and there are many more things out there than detailed in the one novel you've picked up. There are many people in the world that would take advantage of new members of the BDSM community, or those looking to become involved in the BDSM community. More than one submissive has found themselves the victim of abuse because they did not understand the way this community works. The same can be said for fledgling Dominants who are brought in with a manipulative "submissive" who is using them for their own gratification. We use words like slave, pet, and humiliation. We engage in things like ownership contracts, consensual non-consent role play, age play, and other relationship types. This is a very real game we engage in. It is always, always, with the permission and consent of all parties.

You, in the end, are responsible for your own safety and security.

Love,

Beverly

* * *

 

**Introduction - Beginning the Journey**

Welcome, dear readers, to the first part in the Doctor's Training Trilogy, which is also the first trilogy in the Chains of Fate Series. This novel is a work of fiction based in and around St. Louis, Missouri. Many of the places are real, but many are not. Please see the Chains of Fate notes at the end of this novel for brief descriptions of the fictional places that are used in our works.

The characters you are about to meet are unique and varied, and we hope that you will enjoy joining them in their lives. Doctor's Training is a prequel to the future Dawnstar Trilogy, and is an introduction to the main characters that form the basis for the Chains of Fate universe. This book is not considered pure erotica, though there are erotic scenes presented.

The situations presented are quite possible, and are something often seen in this lifestyle. We, as the authors, want to make sure that you, as the reader, understands that this is a fictional work about learning alongside our dear doctor and about the various methods of entrance into this world.

This book and other Chains of Fate books attempt to show the good, bad, and sometimes unusual sides of the BDSM community. This novel is an attempt to bring you on the doctor's journey and recovery through submission. We hope you join him as he moves through rape recovery and learning to deal with his mental health concerns. The storms that Dr. Sung's navigates are very real events for many people. In the end, he finds comfort and love in bondage, the way so many in our community have.

Before you journey with Kieran, we need to remind you that the following story is a work of fiction, and like any work of fiction, requires some degree of suspension of disbelief. We have strived to make the work both realistic and entertaining. In the real world, there are very real implications of the activities presented in these pages. Characters make choices, and those choices will eventually have consequences later on. Please keep in mind, engaging in casual sexual relations, casual D/s play, and having multiple partners requires a degree of caution and self-protection. Throughout the stories, there will be chances to see consequences of various poor choices made by individuals. Since this book has a high degree of sexual relations, we advise readers to keep safe sex in mind. The characters in this story have histories with each other and understand the risks of engaging in sexual activities with or without condom use. Some agreements take place off screen, before the reader meets the characters, so please keep that in mind. There are also some possible effects related to some of the activities the characters engage in, which they may seem to avoid. Again, this is fiction after all.

Please be aware, this work features graphic and detailed scenes of violence and graphic sexual acts, both consensual and non-consensual. This work also features heterosexual and homosexual relationships, and characters that are at various points on the sexuality spectrum. You will also see many different genders and depictions of various polyamorous situations. There are many intersections with the kink community and other lifestyles that many consider alternative. Several individuals are neurodiverse, including characters with bipolar disorder, autism, and PTSD. Because of the diversity of the individuals presented, there will also be depictions of ableism, ageism, racism, homophobia, transphobia/antagonism, kink/lifestyle shaming, and discrimination based on religion and/or polyamory.

There is a scene in which a character engages in oral sex with another without more than verbally being told his new partner is "clean". We do not recommend this, but the character has his reasons for being willing to engage in risky activities like this. Another character engages in disturbing fantasies of others, and one character goes through stages of anger that almost turn to abuse. Characters say and do things that they should not do and have to deal with consequences of. These individuals are human, and they go through and learn throughout the stories we write. None of them will be perfect.

Remember, the actions of characters, even protagonists, are not supposed to represent right or correct actions. These actions also do not reflect the moral standpoints of the authors. In the end, these books are about imperfect humans trying to make their way in the world. They will make mistakes, and they will hurt others and be hurt by others.

Thanks, again, for giving this novel a read. It is our hearts and souls on these pages.

Love,

Beverly and Kenyon    

* * *

 

* * *

 

Dr. Kieran Sung sat at his desk, his dark brows creased in frustration. The dark blue of his eyes was dulled from the sheer amount of annoyance he was currently feeling. He was in the middle of a consultation with the frustrated and distraught parent of a new patient. Needless to say, she was causing his normally comfortable office to become noticeably  _un_ comfortable. He adjusted in the large leather chair behind his desk, flinching as it made an awful squeaking noise. His nose wrinkled as it made a puff of air from the cushions exude the leathery. The chair was well over three years old, yet it still was so strong. He tolerated it, even enjoyed the scent in small doses, but the creaking sound the stiff material made was why he rarely sat in this chair. It also had the unfortunate effect of making him look even smaller than he already was, and he seriously considered asking to have the thing replaced. A second person could easily sit beside him due to his thin, small stature.

The atmosphere of his office had become heavy with his anxiety as she continued to complain. He glanced over toward the two large windows in the corner of the room, which looked out onto the busy streets around him. The city of St. Louis was known for having much of the medical community based on North and South New Ballas Road, and McKellar hospital was one of the many hospitals and medical facilities along the northernmost portion. His office sat at the back north east corner of the medium-sized private hospital. From the here, he could see the main road on the far-left side already busy with lunchtime traffic. Directly outside, he could see the pharmacy across Magna Carta Drive, and the other buildings sitting behind them to the right. If he opened the draperies, of course. Right now, as always, they were closed. He kept the dark brown curtains pulled tight against the sunlight because it caused such a glare. It was not terrible today, as it had turned cloudy after the rain they had the day before. Somehow, it made him feel dreary with the current situation.

He pulled his attention from the dull afternoon light filtering through the heavy drapes and returned it to the woman sitting across from him. His deep blue eyes tried to focus on her, but he was having more difficulty with his attention today than usual.

"I requested a doctor to do the surgery on my daughter, not a student. Why am I sitting across from a child?"

This woman, with her hard, light brown eyes, and her ash blonde hair tied up in a tight bun on top of her head, was being completely obtuse about the fact Kieran was trying to save her daughter's life. He noted the wrinkles spreading out around her eyes, colloquially called "crows' feet," and thought perhaps this woman stressed over things she should not. He dragged his short fingers across the dark surface of the desk and wondered why she could not understand his young age was not a concern. He understood the woman's problem with him. He knew his age had initiated this particular confrontation. At twenty-five, Kieran was well aware of the perception others often had. Kieran had never let these situations bother him for too long; once he got past the initial anxiety attack caused by confrontation, he had always been able to cope with it.

Lately, Kieran was having difficulty moving on from these types of situations. Kieran knew he did not fit well in the world, but he had never minded it before. He had always taken care  _not_  to care. If people did not like him for who he was, he would move on. In recent months, the little things separating him from the rest of world were growing considerably, and this fact was beginning to bother him. People like the woman sitting across from him had always been in his life, but he had only recently become irritated by them.

His focus landed on the items on his desk despite the fact he knew this woman was waiting for him to come up with some sort of response. He noted his pen cup was too far to the right, and the cords coming up from the plastic rimmed hole in the wood were disorganized. He gave a slight shake of his head to remove his focus from the disorder on his desk. It was not a large desk, as Kieran did not need a lot of space. It was plain with two smaller drawers and a file cabinet style underneath them. His focus shifted to the fact the file drawer was pulled out slightly. Kieran assumed that Thomas had been in here earlier to retrieve the patient file and forgot to lock it again. He would have to mention that to him as this was not the first time he had done something like that. Kieran kept that one locked because it was specifically for his high priority patients. The rest of his records were kept in the downstairs record's room.

He turned his attention back to the woman. How could he respond to her displeasure to the fact he was young? It was not like he could change his age, or change the fact he was the only doctor who would even attempt removal of her daughter's brain tumor. Upon entering the office, she had been antagonistic. She had pushed open the dark wooden door with more force than necessary then glared at Kieran as though he were someone who should not be in his desk. It was early afternoon and he had not even taken out his laptop after returning from lunch.

Gritting his teeth, he knew he had to get himself under control.  _Impulse control_ , echoed in his mind.  _Emotional control. Those are your biggest deficits, Kieran._ He frowned because he did not need to be hearing his therapist's voice in his head right now. This week Kieran had been trying to do all the things he was expected to do. He was trying so hard to be normal.  _Normal is the goal, Kieran. You can do it._

Glancing at the patient's mother again, his hand drummed rhythmically along his right thigh. This self-stimulation was quiet, and only he could hear the slight patting against the smooth cotton of his scrubs. He felt the slight rise where the embossed fabric made a pattern of interlocking diamonds of blue.

Hearing a light knock on the door, he saw his mentor Dr. Thomas McKellar was looking in. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest and a bemused grin on his face. The old doctor's dark brown eyes were centered on Kieran as the younger doctor nodded to him. As always, Thomas was in a pristine deep gray suit. He was the current Director of Medical Services for McKellar Hospital as well as Kieran's long-time therapist and teacher. Thomas had a way with patients; Kieran was never able to copy it appropriately.

Kieran's personal nurse and assistant had told him this one was going to be difficult, and had gone to summon Thomas. Usually, the fact that she would assume these things would not bother him in the least. Today, the thoughts racing through his mind revolved around why she thought she had to intercede all the time. Even if he could not handle a situation, he wondered why she felt it was her place to make the call and not his.

Knowing Thomas, Kieran knew he would intercede. Kieran would attempt to deal with this woman without his assistance and fail. Several times, Thomas had informed Kieran of the fact he was unable to tell when he needed help. He also informed him how all of this was a part of his deficits in the social areas. Kieran recently found he felt a little odd when Thomas spoke about those "deficits" and he started to wonder why he was feeling somewhat angry when he pointed them out. Was his anger another problematic behavior he needed to deal with?

Thomas spoke as he walked into the room toward Kieran's desk. "Ma'am, you requested Dr. Kieran Sung. Dr. Sung is a world-renowned neurologist and neurosurgeon." Thomas took up a position behind Kieran, draping his hands on the back of the chair as he spoke. "He is also the head of our elite Neurosurgery department here at McKellar Hospital."

The older doctor dropped a hand on the back of the his neck. At the motion, Kieran's attention shifted on the dark-grained wood of his desk. He took one of his trim nails and began to dig it into the grain of the wood on the edge facing him. The hand on his neck felt comforting, despite feeling as though he were being reprimanded for not doing a good enough job.

"I requested a doctor." Mrs. Edison glared at Kieran. "This is a child. He's barely older than my daughter!"

Thomas squeezed his hand on Kieran's neck. He could imagine the older doctor's face turning into the gentle and comforting look he used with patients. It was something he would never master.

Considering Thomas had a confident attitude, Kieran was certain now that he had indeed retrieved the patient file earlier today. Thomas always read over the files on his patients and knew everything about patients such as this.

"Mrs. Edison, correct me if I'm wrong, but you took your daughter to St. Luke's a month ago. She was having seizures and migraines which led you to the emergency admittance. Their tests showed a large tumor. Their neurology department determined it was a stage two cancerous tumor. They declared it inoperable. The neurosurgeon referred you to Dr. Kieran Sung." The voice Thomas used must have soothed patients, but it grated on Kieran's nerves. It sounded too fake, almost condescending, to his ears. It was not sincere. "I believe you consulted several other private doctors who refused to help. Her file shows four referrals for hospice end of life care. You want to save your daughter's life, so you brought her here to see Dr. Sung. Dr. Sung has agreed to this surgery when others refused based on the scans alone."

Mrs. Edison nodded. "Yes. They said to try and operate on the tumor would only shorten her life. Dr. Shyrock from St. Luke's said Dr. Sung was the only one who would even attempt the surgery."

"Yes," Thomas commented. "The reason is because Dr. Sung's specialty is in micro laser surgery. He uses some innovative techniques to do this. He also has equipment of his own design; no one else has been able to recreate such innovative technology for neurosurgery. There is a very good reason you were referred here by Dr. Shyrock. She is one of the people who worked with Dr. Sung during his internship days."

When Mrs. Edison glared at Kieran, he felt her gaze keenly. "How do you expect me to allow a man this young to operate on my only child."

"I understand your trepidation. Considering the nature of Janet's tumor, Dr. Sung has already begun the process of setting up this surgery for next week," Thomas affirmed. "I assure you, you want Dr. Sung to do this surgery."

Kieran stared at her in annoyance; the young woman was nineteen, so the hospital did not have to work with her mother.  _He_ did not have to work with her mother. Janet Edison worked full time and had her own insurance. Yet, here they sat arguing over what to do anyway, as if she were twelve years old. If Thomas had not told him it was essential he speak with this woman, he would have simply gone to speak with Janet without having this meeting.

This reminded him why he put off speaking to patients and their families until the last possible moment. If he never had to deal with another human being, he could have lived out his life with happiness. Still, being a doctor meant he had to have some interactions with others. Though he could not avoid people all the time, he did a decent job of doing it on a regular basis. This was one of the hardest parts of his profession. There were other doctors of equivalent station that had no issue being blunt and disagreeable with others, but he always cared about how he was perceived. He wanted to relate and understand other people, even if he struggled. That made him somewhat different than doctors with a classic "bad bedside manner".

Thomas was constantly telling him he had to be more "normal" with his patients. He  _needed_  to be normal. He  _needed_  to act like everyone else and not act "weird". He put his head in his hands and began to comb through the thinner black hair at his temples; this was a self-stimulating behavior that was socially acceptable.

Kieran was coming close to the end of his control. He could feel the need to put himself in a small space swelling. The room around him felt far too large to be comfortable. Thomas spoke up. "Um, Mrs. Edison, might I inquire about if you have researched Dr. Sung?"

She turned her dull brown gaze on the taller man who was behind Kieran. Thomas placed his hands onto Kieran's shoulders and squeezed. He appreciated the pressure since it helped the tension in his shoulders. His nose crinkled slightly at the smell coming off Thomas. He never told him, but he hated whatever deodorant or aftershave he used. It smelled like wet socks.

"Of course," Mrs. Edison answered with a roll of her eyes. "His credentials seemed impressive. But  _he_  is far too young!"

Thomas continued to rub Kieran's shoulders, and Kieran felt a bit of the tension ebb due to the strong pressure. To any other person, it would feel quite painful. Kieran craved deep pressure sensation. It was one of the few things which could curb his anxiety. In fact, the more pressure Thomas applied, the quicker Kieran relaxed. With the reduction of anxiety, his perception of the room growing in size began to fade.

Thomas smiled sweetly at her. "I assure you, Kieran has more than enough experience in his twenty-five years to deal with this. He is - quite frankly - the best and only option you have for your daughter. Dr. Sung here is one of the few doctors in the state, country even, who specializes in both neurosurgery and neurology. He is widely published, and has done more innovative work with brain surgery than anyone in the last fifteen years."

Giving Kieran another harsh glare, she nearly snarled. "Even if this is the doctor I was looking for, how in the world am I supposed to allow a child barely older than my daughter to open up her brain?"

Kieran let out a breath with a small degree of satisfaction. He supposed it was a step in the right direction, even if the entire statement was not logical at all; age did not play into ability. In fact, he knew surgeons in their fifties still unable to properly suture a wound closed. Lack of logic always annoyed him to no end. Despite his youth, he had far more quality of experience than doctors twice his age. He covered his face with his hands and then peered up at the woman in front of him. With continuing to massage his shoulders, he felt like he could run the script now.

"I graduated the medical doctor program in four years, a full year sooner than they generally allow. I then took a residency at Washington University. I dual specialized in neurology and neurosurgery. No one at Washington University had ever succeeded in this before, or any major medical program. During residency, I completed a master's of science in biostatistics. I completed a master's in clinical investigation. The year after my residency, I finished with a Ph.D. in neuroscience. My research and dissertation centered on using the same micro-laser surgery I will use on your daughter. I also finished the Doctor of Medicine and Doctor of Philosophy program. I took the head of neurosurgery position here at the age of twenty-three," he stated, eyes focused on the bridge of the woman's nose. Always the bridge of the person's nose. Years of therapy taught him to "look people in the eye" had only taught him to stare at the bridge of someone's nose would make people think he was looking in their eyes.

"I am your daughter's greatest chance of survival. I specialize in impossible operations. Almost exclusively, my patients are those other neurosurgeons will not touch. I have yet to lose a patient due to my inability to perform a procedure. The chances of success, I deem, are about 10 percent when performed by any other doctor. I estimate a 75 percent likelihood of success. I have done more difficult surgeries in my time here. I succeeded. The surgery will take approximately fourteen hours, assuming no complications. As far as my experience, while I do not have the age you expected, I do have the training and experience suitable to this work."

He paused and closed his eyes, finishing the script in one breath. "I cannot put a bookshelf together to save my own life, but I can cut into a person's brain with almost a .08 percent miscalculation risk on my part. I understand I appear to be incapable of what I am quite capable of doing. I have given you everything you need to know and more."

He took a deep breath because he was running off the predefined script. He swallowed hard against the anxiety welling in the back of his throat. He hated being off script but the woman was giving a blank stare. The surge of anxiety made Kieran uncomfortable now as his practiced speech was completed. His perception of the room began to alter. He needed to find a small space and get rid of this feeling.

"If we have things settled, I have rounds. I also must see your daughter. Thank you," he finished. Thomas stepped back and released his shoulders. Kieran immediately stood and headed out the door.

Kieran just barely registered the smirk on Thomas's face and the shocked and disbelieving countenance of the woman he left. He did not care what either of them thought. He was quiet as he ducked into one of his hiding places to collect himself. This spot was one of the smaller linen closets. He breathed in and out a few more times, implementing the anxiety coping skills he had been using since he was a child. Breathe in, count to five, breathe out. Repeat. The breathing and the close confines of the linen closet helped. He would rather be wrapped up in his weighted blanket at home, but it was not something he had here.

This happened too often for his liking. Rarely did anyone believe someone with his youth could handle this job. He was not a child. He had finally relented to Thomas's pleading and let him have a writer do a biography. It had taken time to compile all the data. Since then Thomas had been begging him to start making public appearances. Thomas seemed to think if he appeared in public, people would be less likely to question him. If people stopped questioning, then he would not have as much anxiety around families and patients. Kieran seriously doubted his anxiety would lessen, but he would humor Thomas. Aside from his best friends - Artemis and Mary - and his father, Thomas meant more to him than anyone else in the world. For him, he would do the things he hated.

Even so, he was needing someone like Artemis to soothe him. Artemis did not tell him what to do and he let him be himself.

Right now, he was wishing Thomas had not sent Artemis to another floor to help prep a patient for Dr. Santos. It annoyed him; even as the Head Nurse on the neurology floor, Artemis ended up having to go do things like this. Thomas had insisted Artemis handle the situation, something about the patient being in a delicate condition and needing the best nurse they had on the floor. Kieran let out a sigh. He supposed Artemis was the best nurse on the floor. It seemed to him there were too often instances where he had to go somewhere else.

One last deep breath and Kieran opened the door. He stepped back into the empty hallway. Thomas had made sure Kieran's office was set away from the busier parts of the floor. The subtle shade of blue of the walls here was always calming to him. Before he headed to Janet Edison's room, he had to go down to radiology and grab her file. At least there would be no one around since it was lunch time; he did not even want to deal with the radiology staff right now. He kept his head down and watched his feet on the pinkish tan colored carpeting leading to the elevator. He entered it, and was happy have an uneventful ride to the basement.

Kieran stepped off the elevator and walked up to the door to the radiology records room. This hallway always sounded so empty and echoed. The blank white walls were featureless for the most part except for a couple doors. He walked down to one of the plain doors with a punch code lock on it. The only feature revealing this was the radiology records department was the small plaque beside the door. Of course, because of restrictions on patient file access, not just anyone could come into to these rooms. Only doctors and the Head Nurses could open the records' offices throughout the hospital. He grabbed the file waiting for him. The records' receptionist was on lunch at this hour, so he had asked her to leave it there for him. He paused, getting ready to head back down the hall toward the elevator again.

He went over the script for his qualifications once more in his mind. He hated having to tell people the same information. If he wanted to have access to his singular obsession, he had to make his qualifications apparent. The list of his degrees was only one of the idiosyncrasies that made him stand out. His interpersonal relationships were rather rudimentary. As a child, he had struggled to even make friendships with other students his age. Truthfully, he never tried. He found others his own age dull, boring even. Such small-minded thinking, and they seemed to be unable to keep up with him when he did choose to speak to them. Instead, he found the medical journals far more interesting. He found people's bodies and biology fascinating, especially their brains. He had no real interest in relationships with those inside the bodies he studied. Each surgery was a challenge and a new opportunity to hone his exacting skills.

Lost in thought, Kieran almost did not notice a family was heading down the hallway toward him. He froze for a second and stepped to the side, holding the files in front of him; he tried to act like he was ignoring them completely. Kieran just wanted them to hurry past him. He concentrated hard on looking at the films. But honestly his attention was fully focused on the group passing him. He heard every word even though they spoke quietly. They were talking about their cousin having a mammogram later today. Sometimes, there simply was too much noise and information for him, especially since he took it all in even when it was unnecessary.

Kieran moved on and took a series of long breaths as he headed the rest of the way to the elevator. At least they were not going to the same place. His anxiety made it impossible for him to deal with so many people. They would get close to him and touch him, and people touching him irritated him to no end. As usual, his mind wandered to his problems when he had issues with a patient.

The shoulder rub from Thomas had been a good short-term fix, but he wanted more than just a quick massage. He really needed to find out if there were compression vests slim enough that would not be obvious if worn under his scrub. He chewed his lip. Thomas would say normal people did not need to use things like compression vests. He would worry on it later he thought, stepping into the elevator.

As he entered, he stumbled a bit. Steadying himself on the wall, he cursed under his breath in Korean as he pushed the button for the seventh floor. He realized the light for the ground floor was lit. He had hoped to make it to the seventh before dealing with people, but it seemed someone was getting on the elevator soon. He stood to the side of the door as it stopped and opened. He had one last hope: maybe no one would get on.

His luck seemed to be nothing if not consistent because someone was getting on. He looked up and hid a grimace. She was a slender and buxom woman, mid-twenties it appeared, with platinum blonde hair in a messy bun. He noted she had a set of clear blue eyes accented with neutral makeup. When she noticed him watching her, she gave him a small smile. Most irritatingly, she stood quite a bit taller than him in her heels. Of course, at five feet three, most people were taller than Kieran. He smiled back, and immediately realized she had not pushed another button. The lack of another button meant she was getting off at the seventh floor and he was going to be in the elevator with her until then.

"Hey!" She continued smiling at him with far too many teeth for his liking.

"H-hey," Kieran responded, glancing at her. His face turned pink immediately before he could think about anything else to say.

Unfortunately, when he blushed at speaking with women they assumed it meant attraction. It did not mean any sort of interest at all. He just hated interpersonal relations that had nothing to do with his job. Granted, he hated interpersonal relations that did have to do with his job. He always lacked the correct script for a situation dealing with others in social situations. Operating on brains was so much easier. His continual state of embarrassment tended to encourage those trying to make sexual advances. They seemed to perceive his discomfort as some sort of inane mating ritual. He didn't know how to stop this sort of thing from happening, but it was quite frustrating.

"Are you a doctor here?" she continued and tilted her head toward him. He did wear his usual white coat over his scrubs, but he refrained from making the comment he was obviously a doctor.

The woman kept trying to make eye contact. Not only did he found it uncomfortable but her mere presence seems to exude some sort of...something. He felt almost compelled to answer when she spoke. It was strange. He supposed most would consider her attractive. He made note of her dress, though. She wore a short black skirt with a black blazer over a lowcut red camisole revealing her ample cleavage. Again, his brain insisted on taking in all the information possible, even when it was not needed.

"Um, yes," he answered, turning once again to stare at the numbers above the elevator door. Why did they move so slow? When was this elevator going to get to the floor he wanted?

"Oh, you're so young, are you an intern? Or resident is what they call it?" She moved a bit closer, making Kieran back away into the side of the elevator. She was not intending to try and crowd him, he knew. He was already on the other side of the elevator and people tended to get closer to individuals they were speaking with. Now he was pressed against the mirrored side.

"N-no," he stammered while glancing up at her, then back up to the lit numbers of the elevator.  _One more floor. One more floor_.

"Oh, really? What do you do?" She peered down her nose at him with that smile again. She was inside his comfort zone and he felt boxed in.

"I-I am Head of neurosurgery, but I must see to a patient waiting, nice talking to you." He gasped, almost tripping since he could not get out of the elevator fast enough.

After he was out, he checked behind him to see the woman walking in the same direction. She appeared to be searching for a room. He shook the encounter off and wound his way around the seventh floor until he saw the room he was looking for, 756, and knocked gently before opening it. In the bed sat a pretty girl with long dark auburn hair, and wide grayish green eyes.

The room she was in was not much different than the average hospital room. There was not a lot of equipment out since she was only admitted for evaluation for surgery. The bed dominated the center of the room, and there were two windows to the left of the bed. The windows had a seat under them that turned down into a sleeping surface for any family members if they should stay with a patient. The only other furnishing in the room was the TV along the east wall and a recliner next to the plain hospital bed. The bathroom sat behind and to the right of the bed. All the neurosurgery rooms were single occupant rooms, which was one thing Kieran was grateful for.

He gave her his best "nice doctor" smile he practiced so much in front of the mirror. He picked up her chart from the end of the bed, and flipped through it even though he already knew every detail in it. It seemed to comfort patients to have the doctor skimming over their charts in front of them.

"Um, hello, who are you?" she asked timidly, glancing around the otherwise empty room.

His distracted state had led him to mess up the script already. He was supposed to begin the script as soon as he came in  _before_ he picked up the chart. This was one of the main reasons he did not like to meet with patients' family members independent of the patient. It threw off his routine and the scripts he used when dealing with patients.

"I am Dr. Sung. Assuming you sign for the surgery, I will be taking the tumor out of your brain first thing on Monday morning." He smiled again, trying to get onto the script as quickly as he could. "Then I am afraid you shall be stuck here for a couple weeks with our hospital food. For that I must apologize in advance."

He felt the strain on his facial muscles from holding the fake smile. Granted, it worked, because the anxious look on Janet's face faded a bit. She gazed at him with a nod. He thanked all the psychology texts he had read over the years for his ability to manipulate his actions in front of his patients. Happy patients asked fewer questions and caused him less stress, after all. He placed the new films on the counter to examine for the patient's benefit. He did not really need to look at them again; he had them memorized already.

Just as he was about to continue, he heard speaking behind him as the door opened. He glanced behind him to see Janet's mother and he blonde woman from the elevator coming into the room. She must have stopped in the main waiting room to meet with Mrs. Edison. Great, more people made his anxiety spike higher. It was hard enough dealing with his patients, but family and friends such were a nightmare.

"Dr. Sung, you beat me here." The older woman looked anywhere but his face. It appeared Thomas had taken a bit to give her a talk. "Dr. McKellar said you'd come to speak to Janet once you'd picked up her films from radiology."

"Hum, yes, I was just telling your daughter I would be performing the surgery Monday morning if she agrees to it." He nodded at them, focusing his eyes on their noses to avoid their piercing gazes.

The blonde-haired woman was openly gaping at him. "You...you were serious? You're like twenty!"

Kieran arched a brow, turning back to the chart in his hands. "I turned twenty-five this year. But my age does not change the fact I need a decision on the surgery today so I can confirm the staff for Monday morning. I also need to set up pre-surgery tests and preparation. I have already put the staff on alert for the surgery as of last week, when Janet came in. Janet's surgery would take top priority as one step down from emergency. The mass is large enough to start interfering with her bodily functions, and if it is not removed soon, her estimated time to live is around six to ten months, depending on results of chemotherapy. My experience with this type of tumor is it does not respond well, and chemo is not a fun experience to go through, especially when the results are debatable."

He received blinking eyes from all those in the room as a response. "You are cold," the busty blonde-haired woman hissed. "Do you not have any bedside manner?"

"Clair!" Janet chided, slapping the blonde woman on the arm. "Enough. He's just giving me the information. Don't treat me like I don't know I'm dying, Clair. I'm well aware of the fact. I would much rather hear it straight out rather than someone trying to sugar-coat it."

Clair started to say something then nodded. "I'm sorry, Janet, I just worry about you, you're like the kid sister I never had. I don't like to think about the fact you're so close to leaving me."

Frowning, Kieran ran through what he had said. Smile at the patient,  _check_. Joke with the patient about bad hospital food post-surgery,  _check_. Explain place of priority of surgery compared to others,  _check_... He paused. That was when she had interrupted. And he could not be sure he had done it properly. Had he done the risk and benefit part wrong again? Explaining the risks of the surgery and the potential benefits was the hardest for him. He tended to get technical and provide more information than the patient wanted from him. Why a patient would not want the most complete information, he did not understand. They always wanted good news and never the truth. He had found the less information they had, the better things went. All those things were in the social area of dealing with patients, of course. It made no sense whatsoever to him. No logic at all.

Kieran arched a brow for a moment before scowling. Without another word, he quickly stepped into the hallway. He flagged down a nurse from the nurses' station nearby. A short woman headed over toward him.

Mary Jameson had grown up next door to Kieran's family in Chesterfield. She sighed, running a hand through her short, brown hair. Kieran shrugged, staring at her blue paisley scrub top intently. He was avoiding her hazel eyes. She put her hands on her hips for a second and sighed again. Mary was much shorter than the blonde woman from the elevator. She was perhaps five feet in height, and rather plump about the middle.

"Need some intervention with them?" she asked and put a hand on his shoulder. Of course, Kieran noticed the extra pressure she exerted. It did not make any impact on him. He liked pressure sensations, after all.

"Perhaps," he responded, looking up a bit and smiling at her.

Nodding, Mary went back into the room with him. She snatched the chart out of his hands, startling him before she smiled at the three women in the room. Kieran stepped back to stand back against the glass door. He stared at the ground with his arms crossed over his chest. He hated the fact he had to be in the room for this because he knew Mary would say annoying things. He grabbed the tablet from his pocket and started a new game of Angry Birds on silent.

"So, we have Miss Janet Edison? How are you today? I see you met Dr. Sung, and he said he was perhaps...ah, well, his normal self. I'm here to clarify and answer any questions. My name is Mary Jameson, so I'll take any questions about the procedure. I'll be assisting the doctor during the surgery. I'll also be the liaison to the family during the procedure." She glanced back and saw Kieran busy on the tablet and the turned back to the family. Kieran was watching her even if she did not realize it. "I'll apologize for Dr. Sung's...ah manner. He tends to be somewhat abrasive with patients."

Kieran cut his eyes up and felt a pang of annoyance. She always "apologized" for him. Not only did she make some sort of apology, she always did it in such a way she seemed to think he was not paying attention. He did not appreciate some of the things she said when she felt certain his attention was diverted. He was fully capable of listening to her and playing a game on the tablet. Why could she not be more like Artemis and accept him as he was? She generally aligned with Thomas and his beliefs about what was best for him. Artemis, on the other hand, was fine with Kieran's thoughts on things no matter what they were. Perhaps he should rethink how he felt about the people in his life.

"I told him he didn't have much of a bedside manner." Clair stared at her friend in the bed. "He doesn't seem to care much for the impact of his words on someone who is facing...facing what she is."

"Ah, I know, I know, but you know what they say about the best doctors, they tend to be terrible at the bedside. His is rather clinical."

"Is he really the best?" Janet spoke with a tone just over a whisper. "I mean, he's going to do surgery on my brain, so..."

Kieran smirked at the tablet. No matter what else came out of this debacle, the choice about the surgery had already been made. Janet would sign the paperwork, and then Monday would see the long and strenuous surgery. He felt the surging sensation of excitement in his stomach at the prospect of the challenging surgery. This was what made all the frustrating parts of the job worth it. Monday, he would go into the surgery theater and open her skull. He would see the tumor that was teasing him from the films with the seemingly inoperable problem it presented; he would solve the problem.

"Ah, he's a genius at surgery, there is little doubt," Mary answered. "I would ask you ignore his terrible bedside manner. Please understand, he is definitely not good with people." Mary handed Janet the clipboard with the paperwork on it. She lowered her voice a bit, "He's just...socially awkward, you see. He doesn't do well with people anytime."

Kieran felt somewhat betrayed by Mary now. The comment was outside the realm of his bedside manner with patients. She had been more and more aggressive with telling him what he should do, as though he could not make the choices for himself. He ground his teeth and shifted his weight to his other hip. He wanted this over. He needed to talk to someone else besides Mary before he had another episode with the tics.

Janet took the clipboard and looked over the paperwork. She scribbled a few times on the pages and then handed it back. He knew the sound by heart. That had been the sound of her signing the paperwork for the surgery. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat, hoping Mary deemed his presence finished. He wanted to get out of the room and see if he could find Artemis. He needed to be with someone who was not judging him for a little bit. Mary's words left him with a feeling of deep irritation and he had to get away from her.

"Alright, Dr. Sung," she said as she scanned the paperwork. She at Kieran. "Everything here seems to be in order." He snapped the tablet case closed and stood up straight. He glanced at Mary.

"I shall see you Monday morning." Kieran gave Janet and her visitors a curt nod and hurried to escape out the door.

He heard Mary continuing to speak behind him but he had to get out of the room immediately. His eye had already started twitching just standing there listening. Completely unaware of where he was he nearly ran into someone in a set of scrubs. He stopped, apologized without thinking and cursed his constant motor issues. If Mary had been around, she would have chided him for being clumsy, as though he could control it. He had to get to Artemis right away or he was going to say something to Mary he would have to apologize for later. It did not strike him as odd to fear such a thing, though Artemis told him again and again he should never feel bad for being himself. He really hoped Artemis was back from the floor he was on, because he needed to talk to him.

 

As Artemis Seath made his way through the Long-Term Care ward to the patient's room, no one bothered to approach him. He was an unassuming person who wasn't quite five and half feet tall, typically easily overlooked. He was not in the best mood as he navigated the hallways with practiced ease. He found the room he was seeking, and tucked his dark brown hair behind his ear. His hair tended to fall into his face on the right side and he preferred it that way. With patients like Mrs. Anna Dankin, he often pushed it back. He paused and adjusted his glasses again before he nudged open the door and stepped into the dimly lit room.

The elderly woman turned and gave him a wide toothless grin. He had visited her yesterday after she had finished the testing on Seventh. They had found a "berry" aneurysm causing some troublesome symptoms for the septuagenarian. It was a common type of aneurism, and Dr. Santos had been confident he could successfully clip it without much trouble.

"Mrs. Dankin, how are you today, beautiful?" he asked with a broad smile. His bright greenish blue eyes took in her vitals with a practiced glance and he was glad to see she was doing relatively well today.

Artemis moved up to the head of the bed and checked over the IV. Mrs. Dankin had a hip replacement several days ago. Unfortunately, she had developed a series of worrisome symptoms so close to surgery. Headaches, dizziness, and occasional blind spots had started occurring, leading them to have her sent for MRI. Luckily, they'd found the aneurysm and it was a very good candidate for clipping, or a surgery where the little bubble on the artery was simply clipped off, and the artery repaired. She was otherwise in good health for her age, and only staying in Long-Term Care to go through physical therapy.

"Oh, sweetie," she nodded. "I'm feeling better, I think. I slept last night! Am I moving to the seventh floor today?"

"I think we might be able to bring you upstairs and figure out what to do about the little blood vessel in your head who is misbehavin'." He looked over her chart. Dr. Santos or his primary nurse should have come down to do the patient transfer. Instead, Thomas had sent him, saying something about wanting his best nurse on Mrs. Dankin's case because her family was a big donor prospect. He was sure the real reason had more to do with keeping him off the seventh floor as much as possible.

"Is this doctor good? Dr. Santos?" Her face turned a bit concerned. "I know all you here at this hospital are good, but..."

"Dr. Santos specializes in vascular neurosurgery, so he is very good at what he does," he told her as he checked to make sure everything was ready for the transfer. "All seems in order, lovely. The orderlies will be down in about an hour to move you upstairs. They'll bring Dr. Santos's regular nurse with you, her name's Deana. She's a lovely lady, and she'll get you situated in a nice room upstairs. I'll come by and check in to make sure everything's going well." He smiled at her again as he put the chart back down. "And just to say hi."

"Aren't you the Head Nurse up there?"

"Everyone was a bit busy today, so I thought I'd come down and see to this myself," he commented, not wanting to tell her it hadn't been his idea to do this today. It was true he hadn't been otherwise occupied, at least. "I don't mind because I get to talk to lovely people like you." As he spoke, he squeezed her shoulder.

"Oh, sweetie, if you don't mind me asking, how in the world did you get such a scar on your face? It looks like an old one too!" She was focusing intently on the scar running down his face.

Artemis put his hand against the scar without thinking, feeling the curved ridge running from the corner of his eye down to his chin. He smiled, though, because he didn't mind so much when people like this questioned him about it.

"Oh, there was a sort of incident when I was a kid..." He trailed off. How was he going to put the fact some men came into his house and tried to murder his family because of who they were. He swallowed and chewed his lip for a second. "A home invasion," he settled on. "I got cut by this one guy who didn't know how to handle his knife. I was lucky, though. My best friend, he lived nearby, and his dad's a pediatric surgeon. So, he stitched me right up!"

"Goodness, that's something..." the older woman remarked with a shake of her head. "I bet something like that was scary for you as a child."

"Eh, I got to stay at my best friend's house for a while. Brat kept sneaking into my room the whole time to stay with me, even when he was told to stay out. He's a bit funny like that. He gets really attached to people he likes and there aren't too many on that list. And he doesn't listen well when he wants to do something." He smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

She smiled. "Ah, so sweet, sweetie. Do you get to see him often these days? Sounds like you care about him a lot."

He nodded with a grin again. "Oh, yeah, he's a doctor up on neuro, he's a specialist in micro-laser surgery, mostly oncology. He does a lot of tumor and mass removals. But he  _did_  design the tools which Dr. Santos uses." He was quiet for a second. "I wish I saw him more, but he doesn't go out a lot. Hhe's autistic, and he doesn't people too well."

"Well, you know, going out doesn't have to be the only way you spend time with someone you love." She gave him a sly wink.

Artemis stared. "What?" He was surprised by the accusation that he loved Kieran, but he found it was one he could not deny. Despite his boyfriend Mischka's presence in his life over the years, Kieran had always been a part of him. Mischka never let him forget it at home, either.

"Don't look at me like that, I see those pink cheeks when you talk about him," she observed. "If I learned anything in my day, it was to tell the ones you love how much love them. When I was your age, I fell in love with a beautiful woman. You know, fifties and all, I never told her, and she married a man who abused her terribly." She paused, and he could tell her eyes were dampening. "I went to her funeral two years after she moved away. In her things, there was a letter for me, telling me how much love for me she'd held in her heart but couldn't tell me. I was happy, my husband and my kids, but I always wonder, what woulda happened if I'd told her how much I loved her." She smiled again. "Just don't waste time, that's what I'll say. Call it old advice from an interfering old woman."

Artemis saw the genuine emotion in her eyes, and for a second he almost felt like telling her more, but he just smiled. "I'll think about it." He patted her arm before he left the room.

"You take care, sweetie!" she called out. He shut the door and took a deep breath before he headed back to the nurses' station on this floor to confirm the transition. He enjoyed the patients like her so much. Despite her age, there was still a mischievous sparkle to her gray eyes. 

As he headed out and over to the nurses' station in the center of the floor, he was thoughtful. It seemed to be rather quiet today, which for this floor was a very good thing. He'd thought about working this floor, and it had been one of the choices he'd been given, but he wanted to be on neurology. He hadn't spent the extra time and effort specializing in nursing related to neurology and neurosurgery to be sent to another floor, no matter how Thomas tried to convince him he was a good fit for it.

What most people he worked with didn't know was the reason he got into nursing to start with had nothing to do with helping others. It was his constant worry and need to take care of his best friend. Sometimes, he found it odd he had based one of the biggest choices of his life on someone outside his family. Other times, he found it only natural he would have done so. He was an excellent nurse, though. He'd been offered top spots at several other hospitals in the St. Louis area, but turned down every one of them. He was home here with Kieran, and here he would stay.

It wasn't like he hated Thomas, it was just the fucker seemed intent on keeping him away from Kieran. Artemis had no intention of letting Thomas keep him away from Kieran. He had his suspicions as to why Thomas seemed to play hospital politics against him, but it wasn't something he could prove.

Artemis reached the nurses' station and quickly made sure everything was in order for the patient transfer. Sighing, he went back to the elevator and hoped nothing had gone wrong upstairs in the hour he'd been gone. He hadn't gotten any pages over the intercom and he hadn't heard the pager in his pocket go off t, so it was a good thing. He headed to his own nurses' station once he got out on the seventh. He called for the orderlies doing the transfer of Mrs. Dankin and sent for Deana to go with them. When he didn't see him immediately, he went to one of the nap rooms to find Dr. Santos and let him know she was coming up. By the time he was finished with everything, he made his way back to the nurses' station to find Kieran was standing there staring at a chart.

It was easy to tell by Kieran's posture that he was anxious. Artemis approached him from the side so Kieran could tell someone was coming up. He put both hands on Kieran's shoulders. Kieran turned and locked eyes with him, and he knew he was bothered by something.

"Kie, what's up?" he asked with a concerned frown.

Kieran tilted his head and stared into space for a minute, grinding his teeth. At the motion, he knew Kieran needed to stim. He also knew Kieran was trying not to stim, and it frustrated Artemis to no end. It wasn't like drumming his fingers hurt anyone.

He glanced around, brushing fingers through his hair. He grabbed Kieran by the hand to usher him into an empty patient room and pushed him to sit down on the end of the bed. The room was dark since the curtains were pulled closed and the lights were all off. Artemis knew if Kieran was upset, the less stimulation from the outside, the better.

Putting both hands on his hips, he looked Kieran over. He could easily see he was upset and probably not sure how to explain it even if he knew. Ever since childhood it had been this way with him. He would give him time and let him speak when he was ready. He had never pushed Kieran to talk if he couldn't or didn't want to.

"Love, you look a bit flustered," Artemis sighed again, smiling gently at him.

Kieran nodded with a somewhat embarrassed look on his face. He hated the fact Kieran always seemed to be so embarrassed for getting upset like this. He especially didn't like the idea Kieran felt embarrassed around him. Lately, he hadn't seen Kieran outside the hospital. It shouldn't have been something that bothered him, but he shook the thought away. They were both busy. He didn't dwell on the fact that a lot of Kieran's time was taken up by the things Mary and Thomas requested. It wasn't like he was jealous of Mary or anything.

An eternity ago, a young Artemis had met this other little boy living in the area. Artemis had been seven, and Kieran had been six. It was before Kieran had gone to the other school. They would often play in the small park nearby while Kieran's mom watched from a bench and Sherlock, Artemis's caretaker and uncle, watched from the other side of the park.

He remembered his Uncle Sherlock whispering to him about how the little dark-haired boy needed someone to play with, and how the other kids made fun of him whenever they came to the park. Artemis wasn't going to stand for something like bullying. He'd marched right over where the little dark-haired boy sat in a sandbox filtering sand through his fingers again and again and told him they were going to be friends and play together. Kieran's mother had smiled and told him to go on. From then on, Artemis played with the little boy everyone else had said was weird. Other kids would tease Kieran now and then, calling him names, and Artemis would yell at them to leave him alone.

Then the incident happened, and Artemis couldn't remember all the details about that day. He just remembered waking up the next day and seeing Kieran leaning over him, crying about him being hurt. Kieran had refused to listen when the adults tried to make him leave. He vividly remembered Sherlock arguing with Kieran's father about having been brought to their house. Artemis had never explained to Kieran the real reason behind his injury or the attack, and he wouldn't. Kieran didn't need to be pulled into the messed-up situation that had left him scarred. He knew there was some connection between their Family and Kieran's, but every time he'd asked about it, Sherlock would say it wasn't something he should worry about.

After the horrible incident, Artemis had an even harder time controlling his anger but being around Kieran helped him a lot. No matter how upset or angry he got, Kieran could calm him in an instant. The only other person who helped Artemis calm down was his boyfriend, but even then, he didn't have the ability to drain his anger like Kieran's mere presence did.

It wasn't long after the incident when Artemis completely lost his temper for the first time in front of Kieran. They had been playing hide and seek in the park and Kieran had gone well away from his mother's sight, and Artemis had also lost him. The wound on his face was almost healed completely from the wound on his face; the flesh was still pink and fresh in the late healing stages. Nearly frantic because he couldn't find him immediately, he had come around the corner and became furious when he found a couple of boy had cornered Kieran. They were pushing him back and forth between them, and he could tell Kieran was afraid. He lost every ounce control and went after them. Kieran had to pull him off, pleading with him not to hurt them anymore.

He knew how in Kieran's life, he had very few people who accepted him for who he was. Artemis also knew how much Kieran had to pretend around Thomas and Mary. Artemis always made sure Kieran could just be himself around him.

"Mary," Kieran muttered. " _Ssibal_ , she always thinks I do not hear what she says when I zone out. They all think I do not hear, all but you. You know, even when I look like I am not paying attention, I am still aware of my surroundings," he grumbled, crossing his arms and rolling his head over his shoulders. "They are going to be looking for me in a minute." He stopped and sighed deeply. "I still have to finish my rounds and talk to my father about a little girl who came in last night."

"You can't help your actions when she antagonizes you." A deep scowl settled in across Artemis's brows.

"At least I left the room before I started ticking," Kieran muttered. He rubbed a hand over his freckled nose and cheekbones. "It would be bad, going off and yelling 'fuck' in the middle of a room with a patient. Even if it is not in English." Kieran chewed his lip for a second before continuing. " _Aigoo_ , this is so annoying, why does she have to think I do not know what she says?"

Artemis sat down beside him, putting an arm around him with another deep sigh. "Kie, you have to figure out how to make things work. You should tell her or something. She needs to know she should stop pushing your buttons like this. Its fucked up. Friend or no. You're not doing so well. You told me before how Dr. McKellar said if you aren't careful..." he started.

Kieran nodded. He leaned over and rested his head against Artemis's shoulder. "A breakdown right now would mean medications. Medications mean no more surgery. No more surgery means I would go out of my mind. I have to have access to surgery. Thomas says there is no way he will let me do surgery on something as simple as anxiety medications. I do not understand the harm. They do not interfere with surgery. Thomas should know, though. He has spent the last forty years working with autistic people like me. He has to know best."

There was a second of silence before Artemis spoke up. "I don't know, Kieran, you need to do something because yer sufferin'."

"I know, I know, Artemis, believe me." He reached up and ran a hand over Kieran's head where it was on his shoulder. "I am trying. I do not want Thomas to see me like this, so I came to you. He would be mad and tell me I should not be bothered by her saying the truth."

There was a tickling at the back of Artemis's mind. He knew something was off about this situation, and he always had. There was something wrong with the whole idea of Kieran being unable to make his own choices about what medications he should take, for one thing. He knew Kieran trusted Thomas, but Kieran was a doctor too, and he knew even more about the brain than Thomas did. He also knew Kieran was as attached to him as he was to any family member, but still. He couldn't understand the reasons behind some of the things Kieran told him Thomas said. He knew, though, saying something would upset Kieran, and he didn't want to frustrate him even more than he already was. He'd do anything to avoid upsetting him. Instead, he kept those thoughts to himself. Artemis just supported his friend in whatever he decided to do. Kieran was smart enough to figure out if Thomas was doing something wrong...

Artemis adjusted his glasses and realized Kieran had started to relax a bit. He rubbed his back and then hugged him for a second. When Kieran responded with a firm nod and sat back up, he sat up straight.

Kieran stood slowly and Artemis watched him with a careful eye. "Okay, go finish rounds, do your consult, and  _in ainm Dé,_  go home, rest, you have a big surgery Monday!" Artemis stood, ushering him toward the door, then gently pushed him out of the empty room.

Kieran gave him another nod and headed down the hall, probably lost in thought already. Artemis leaned against the doorframe and watched Kieran navigate down the hall while avoiding making eye contact with the passing nurses. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to help Kieran get through this problem with the others in his life, but he wasn't sure how to do it. He reached up, thoughtfully fiddling with his necklace. Kieran was obviously stressed out and in need of some sort of relief. He knew ways that worked for him to relieve stress, but it wasn't the right solution for everyone else. There were times when he needed to engage in the things that took him outside himself and to a place where the world ceased to exist. It was also a place of unconditional love, a place that had always been reserved for Mischka.

Mrs. Dankin's words came back. Was he wasting precious time?

 


	2. The Artist and the Teahouse

* * *

 

Kieran halfway listened as Jae prattled on about this or that in the pediatrics unit. Kieran's focus rested only on the surgery ahead. In his mind, the steps played on an endless loop. He could see the tools, smell the room, feel the metal under his fingers, and hear the buzz of the saw. His father understood Kieran's need for this routine. Though he spoke, Jae didn't expect answers out of Kieran as they headed to the hospital. He knew his father talked in hopes of relaxing him before the surgery. It was comfortable, familiar, and it was routine.

"Seems the weather's good today, son," Jae said as he turned off the car. "Still warmer than it should be; sort of strange for this time of year."

Kieran muttered some reply as he pulled the light jacket around him. It may turn warm later, but right now it was cold. He nodded to his father and they went into the big double doors together before he split off and went to the elevator. He headed immediately to his neurosurgery theater. There were other neurosurgeons, but he was by far the most sought after so it had become his theater in a sense. Kieran nodded to everyone as he entered. He had already dressed in the only scrubs he'd had clean this morning, a set of light lavender ones. He had kind of been happy one of his purple sets were clean since it was his favorite color. He always heard the muttered responses to his clothing choices, but he did not care. He liked wearing the purple ones. Mary had on more than one occasion said if he wore purple, it made him look weak. He had no idea why. Color had nothing to do with weakness or strength.

Kieran scrubbed up and went into the prepared surgery room. He breathed in the sterile air and closed his eyes. No one else thought it smelled any different. If he said anything about the surgery room smell, they would look at him with an odd stare. He could not help his nose picked up things other people did not. It had a smell.

He opened his eyes back up and glanced around. Once everyone was ready in here, he couldn't tell the difference between those present. He would sometimes recognize Mary, but everyone was interchangeable. They all wore the same white coverings over their scrubs, the same white caps, and the same white masks.

The anesthesiologist sat at the head of the chair Janet would sit in for the surgery. Unlike some other surgeries, Janet's body would be upright. The monitors were already on and set up with another nurse sorting the cords. Most people didn't realize how much preparation went into mundane things in surgery. Janet was already out in the pre-op area waiting to begin.

Here Kieran felt completely comfortable. Everything about the room relaxed him. Here he had no worries. Here he did not have to worry about scripts and checklists. He did not concern himself with trying not to make the wrong people angry and getting himself hurt. Here, he knew what to do without hesitation. He was one of the best neurosurgeons in the world, and those watching knew it. As awkward and abrasive as the young doctor appeared to each of them, none could deny the kind of skill he used in surgery.

 

Varick Jaeger grumbled under his breath as he got dressed for work. He needed to head out early because his friend Janet was having brain surgery today. He glanced over at the clock, seeing it was almost six thirty. He sometimes felt his overprotective nature caused him problems in life. He always ended up getting attached to people and needing to take care of them. His little sister Clair and Janet worked as waitresses at a local all-night chain diner, Randy's. Varick spent a lot of his spare time waiting around for Clair when she got off work late because she didn't drive, so he ended up getting to know Janet. He ended up offering to take her home as well.

Janet always told him not to worry, she would be fine walking home alone. Varick didn't want the young woman walking alone at night, even in St. Peters. He glanced in the mirror and wondered why anyone would want him showing up at a surgery at a fancy private hospital. He knew he'd get the looks from going to visit her there. He didn't feel bothered by it; he was used to it. He knew Janet always got upset when someone said something about him.

Varick wasn't what most people would consider approachable, especially since he had more than a few tattoos and piercings. He stood at an imposing six foot four in height, which was imposing on its own. What made him even more imposing was the fact he was fit and weighed almost two sixty without much body fat to speak of. Since he'd come back to Missouri, he worked at a local tattoo and piercing place called the Japanese Teahouse. Before he came to St. Louis, he'd been out in Santa Cruz where he ran an MCC called The Pride. The Motorcycle Club hadn't ended well for him.

As he headed out, his leather riding jacket covered his full colored arm sleeves. He paused and checked the sky, scratching at his dark blond landing strip style goatee. Perfect riding weather, he thought as a few sparse clouds slipped over the sky. Chilly yet, but it would probably warm up later. There were advantages to living in the Midwest. Sighing, he pulled on his bright teal colored helmet over his multicolored hair with a sigh and threw his leg over his bike. His motorcycle was a restored '69 Triumph, and his most prized possession. Might as well make the trip now, because traffic was going to be a bitch if he waited any later to leave.

Varick got to the fancy private hospital at about six forty-five. He missed a large chunk of traffic to his surprise. He got off the bike and let out a low whistle; the place was more than nice. When Clair said it was an upscale private hospital, she hadn't been kidding. Now he understood why Janet was already worried about how much things were going to cost her. Even with insurance, going to this kind of hospital had to cost a ton of money. A few nights ago, when he'd taken her home, she'd gone on and on how much everything was going to cost her and her family. Varick tried to tell her it didn't matter how much it cost, her life was worth more.

Walking through the ornately etched glass sliding doors was sort of surreal. He had his hands in his jacket pockets and felt a little intimidated by the fancy place. He felt eyes on him as soon as he set foot inside the doorway. He didn't fit in with this décor. He headed to the elevator, and smiled at a pair of nurses who stepped in with him. They looked to be trying very hard not to appear to be staring at him. He couldn't help almost grinning because he almost always found it amusing. He pushed the seven and nodded to them. Both looked away, and he ignored them when they got off at the fifth floor. He got off at the seventh and followed the signs to Janet's room. Clair, of course, was already there. He pushed the door open and caught them mid discussion.

"Are you sure?" Clair was saying as he came in. Clair's face immediately lit up, and he saw, so did Janet's.

Janet smiled. "Hi, Leo." She smiled as she spoke, using his nickname as she always did. "Will you tell your sister I've made my choice and I'm having the surgery today?" She craned her neck to look up at the much taller man. "She doesn't seem to get there's no backing out now."

"Sis, you have gotta let the girl get this done. I know you're worried, but you said this guy was the best in the country, right?" he commented, arching a pierced brow at her.

Clair nodded. "Yeah, but he's kinda...weird."

Varick rolled his eyes at her. "He operates on brains. Of course, he's weird. Now, you just let the man do what he does best. It's not like Janet here has any other choice. Every other doctor has told her there's no hope. And I can't watch her waste away to nothing if anyone can stop it."

"I know, I know, I just..." Clair turned to Janet with tears already gathering in her eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you, love. You're like the sister I never had."

"Clair," Janet shook her head as she spoke, smiling at the other woman. "Look, I know I'm only nineteen, but you and Mom have got to stop hovering. I heard one of the nurses talking last night, and I gave Mom a stern talking to afterward. Apparently, she got rude with Dr. Sung. I'm a big girl; I know what I'm doing. I'm prepared for anything, Clair." She paused and took the other woman's hand in hers. "If I don't come out of this surgery, that's what's meant to be. You know that. I don't believe in God like Mom does, so I'm not leaving it in God's hands. I'm leaving it in the doctor's hands and I know he's going to do whatever he can to save my life."

"Even if it seems like he couldn't care less about you as a person? You know that, right? I've looked up stuff online about him. There are some terrible things I read on doctor review sites and message boards. Like about how he doesn't care about patients as more than puzzles to solve, and he doesn't do this to save people. Some say he only does it for his own benefit..." She squeezed Janet's hand gently as she spoke.

Janet snorted in response. "Clair, tell me, does it matter why he does this? I don't really care about his bedside manner, his past, his age, any of it. All I care about is the fact he is good at doing the impossible. So, what if he sees surgery like a puzzle? He saves people so does it really matter?"

Clair started to say something then stopped. Varick recognized the look on her face. She just realized she wasn't thinking logically. "I guess you're right, I...I just didn't think of it like that."

Varick patted Clair on the back. "Sis, sometimes folks with the worst people skills are the best at what they do. They don't waste time on the bullshit that comes with extra junk. Sometimes it means they really are the best choice."

The door opened, and they looked up to see a nurse come in wearing a set of bright yellow and white striped scrubs. She was shorter, with a round figure and face. She had a cart she was pushing in front of her.

"Nurse Mary, this is my big brother, Varick," Clair explained with a smile.

Varick nodded and offered his hand to the plump little nurse. Well, she's a cute little thing, he thought. Good curves and a set of bright hazel eyes. But, the look on her face had judgment written all over it and he was instantly on the defense with her. He immediately knew when someone made assumptions about his appearance.

"Nice to meet you." He gave her a strained smile. "You can call me Varick or Leo, if you like. Everyone but my sister calls me Leo."

"Hmm, yes, good to meet you. Now, Miss Edison, we'll be going over to the surgery theater in a few minutes. Dr. Sung is already in pre-surgery prep, and we'll be getting started soon. Any questions?" she said looking around.

Janet shook her head and looked Clair and Varick. "Mom is already down in the pre-surgery room, and then she'll be out in the waiting room with you. Aunt Jane and Aunt Reatha will be coming by about four this afternoon after work, but Mom will stay the whole time. Are you guys staying?"

"Clair is," Varick smiled at her encouragingly. "I've got a full load of appointments scheduled today, but I'll be here when you come out tonight."

Janet sighed and looked at Mary. "I'm ready."

With that, Mary called another nurse to come help her unlock and move the bed. A few moments later, Varick and Clair were alone in the empty room. Clair leaned against her brother.

"She's going to be okay, right Varick?"

"She's going to be fine, sis," he responded, squeezing her shoulders. He steered her out of the room to the surgery waiting room down the hall.

Varick knew his sister so well. Both had become overprotective of each other, then they became protective over everyone else they cared about. Clair got wrapped up in appearances now and then, especially about people around friends. It was one of the things Varick thought was odd considering what he himself looked like. She sometimes made snap judgments of people which he found frustrating, and never failed to call her on it.

"Promise to come back?" Clair stared up at him with a pleading look as Varick pushed her to sit down in one of the chairs.

Varick shook his head. "I promised once already, didn't I?" He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll be back after I'm done at the Teahouse. Probably with a hand cramp."

"Your fault for doing something like tattooing people," she responded and patted his arm.

Varick shrugged expressively. "Hey, what else is a starving artist gonna do with his life?"

Clair shook her head. "You could go back to school and finish your literature degree, Varick. There's no reason not to. Or get an art degree. Considering what you do on skin, I can't imagine what you could do with other media."

"Sis, it has been way too long since I started. Besides, I used every stitch of cash I had to get back here to St. Louis. Remember, no college fund left?" Varick remined her, a slight frown crossing his face.

"I know, I know, I'm just glad you're back. I missed you while you were gone. And I wish the trip out to Santa Cruz hadn't been for nothing." She pushed her hair behind her ear. She'd worn it down today and had forgone the makeup. That in itself showed how worried she was about Janet. Clair was the type who never looked anything less than perfect in her own eyes.

Varick shook his head before scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully. "I still can't believe the bastard. Call outta nowhere and tell me he's in trouble and then fucking run off with some piece of tail before I even get there."

Clair smiled at her brother. "And you would do it again in a heartbeat, you big teddy bear."

Varick mock glared at her. "Hey, don't let people in on that secret, I'm a big tough guy, remember?"

Clair laughed and shooed him. "Don't be late for your first appointment today, tough guy. It won't look good on your spotless record. You were lucky to get a job so quickly around here when you came back."

"Well, it helps I know one of the guys who works there." He shrugged at her.

Varick kissed her on the forehead and headed out. He already had the place mapped in his head. If there was one thing he was good out, it was remembering places like this. He got down to the bottom floor and glanced into the gift shop as he passed. There was a stuffed lion sitting there. It was funny, considering his nickname. He almost left...but he stopped, going in and buying the silly thing. He put it in one of his bags on the bike. He had no idea why, he just wanted the silly thing; it was cute. He looked up at the bright morning sun and got onto his bike again to head back to St. Charles.

* * * * *

Luckily, Varick had not started the complicated baby portrait he was about to tattoo onto his client's arm when the door to his room slammed open. He looked up to see Mischka Seath, his friend and coworker. Varick put down his tattoo gun and smirked at him. Mischka stood almost five eleven, and didn't quite break the two-hundred-pound mark. But, when he was angry he appeared to grow.

"Varick Jaeger, you told me this shit would wash out," he growled at Varick.

Varick tried his hardest to avoid snickering. "Um, my mistake? I swear, I thought it was wash-out dye."

Mischka narrowed his eyes at Varick, and then shook his head, light pink strands falling into his eyes. "Like hell, you feckin' bastard! You dye your hair every color under the sun, ye know the damn difference between wash out dye and permanent dye! I washed my hair eight times, last night, Leo, eight goddamned times! And look at it, still as freaking obnoxiously pink as yesterday!"

At that point, Varick lost his ability to control himself and started laughing out loud. Mischka blew air out of his mouth and the pink tipped hair fluffed up all around his face. It was frizzy and unruly, but it wasn't nearly as pink as the day before, even though Mischka was acting like it was. It looked more like a corona of cotton candy.

"Yeh bastard, I'm gonna kill ye!" Mischka said and took a menacing step further into the room toward him.

Varick's client looked between them, scared this guy was going to attack the tattoo artist he was paying a lot to do this on his arm. But Varick was still laughing, holding his stomach.

"Hold on, hold on, I can't breathe Mischka," Varick said, trying to get control of himself. "But you look like a puffed up  _mieze_!" He could barely talk as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

"You are so going to regret this, Leo," he growled at him menacingly.

"Oh, poor  _mieze_ , will you hiss and spit at me?" Varick teased, smirking. "Now go on, I have a piece to do. That's what I work here for, right?"

Mischka glared at him and turned around, storming out and slamming the door to Varick's laughter. Varick picked up the gun again.

"Um, he seems angry." Varick's client was a young man whose first child was born the weekend before.

"Don't worry about him. He's a big pussy cat," Varick assured him as he set to work transferring the portrait of his infant onto the client's arm.

After he finished with the portrait a few hours later, he did another couple of his appointments. He'd only scheduled one intricate piece for the day. The rest were simple cartoons and symbols. He stood up and stretched after his last client left before his break.

The Japanese Teahouse was arranged with privacy in mind for the clients. The business was set up in an old shop front on Main Street in St. Charles, Missouri. The front was an open glass front with a large desk on the left side. Their receptionist and accountant, Dannie Smith, sat there most days, doing the scheduling and taking payments. On the right side was an L shaped display counter with the various jewelry available. There were example piercings on silicone body part displays ranging from ears to intimate piercings. The intimate piercings were inside a little ornamental looking case with a sign on the front reading "adults only". Framed examples of the tattoos offered by the artists covered the wall behind the both the desk and display case.

Beside Dannie's desk, it opened into a small waiting area. There was a set of intricate wooden stairs leading up to the piercing parlor on the side. In the center, the waiting area opened into a long open space. Either side had four rooms, with an office at the end for the owner of the shop. In the middle open area, each artist had a small desk area where clients cold see some of their work posted. This way, clients didn't disturb any of the tattooists in the closed-door areas. Each one of them had a half of one of the rooms for their things. Varick had the desk and room closest to the breakroom in the back.

He left the closed room to go out into the main area. Of the twelve tattooists, only three others were in today, but a couple were on call. He noticed Mischka was talking to someone at his desk. Varick headed around to the small break room and grabbed his lunch from the fridge. He headed out and sat down at his desk and flipped open his laptop to check the news. He wasn't the best with technology, but he did like to keep up to date on the current world events. His computer was set up to go directly to a major news website.

For a few minutes, he stared before he growled. He stood up, looking for Mischka. He opened the door to Mischka's tattoo room and saw Dannie putting an invoice on his table.

"Where is he?" he nearly whispered with a furrowed brow.

"Mr. Seath?" she asked, confused.

Varick nodded. "Where is that cheeky little bastard, I'm gonna kill him now."

Dannie shook her head, blond hair bopping back and forth in the high ponytail she wore. "I'm not sure, Mr. Jaeger."

She left and as she did, he saw Mischka sitting on the display case at the front now. He started chatting with Dannie as soon as she came up.

Varick slammed the door and stormed over toward him. Mischka looked up, grinning at him as Varick came around the corner and glared at him.

"What's the password?" Varick's voice had lowered at least an octave as he narrowed his eyes at him.

"What password, Leo?" Mischka looked at him with his hands folded in his lap and smirking at him.

"The fucking password to my computer to get the pornography off the screensaver, Mischka," he said in a flat tone.

Varick knew why he'd done this. Mischka was well aware he had an intense dislike for all pornography, anything women in particular. It would have been easy for Mischka to set up the screensaver and set a password so Varick had to ask him for it. Varick knew it was revenge for dying his hair pink while he was napping on his desk yesterday. Mischka continued to grin at him.

"Fine, Leo, I'll tell you on one condition. You fix my hair in the morning before work," he said, smirking at him still.

Varick sighed and felt his eye twitch. "I'll come by before we open and fix it, password."

Mischka grinned wider. " _Mieze_."

Varick growled and went back to his desk, changing the password before he picked up his food again. He smiled though when Mischka wasn't looking. If it hadn't been for Mischka, Varick wasn't sure where he'd be at this point in life. Mischka had been the one to help him bust his own Motorcycle Club for the illegal shit they were trying to get into. He wasn't sure he could have gotten out of the situation alive if it hadn't been for him. At least he'd been able to get out of there. He paused, staring at Mischka as he leaned over the counter talking to a customer. He did look cute with the pink in his hair, though, he thought. He really was a little  _mieze_. Varick shook his head. Thinking a of a man almost as old as he was as a kitten. Where the hell did that come from?

Varick was finishing up his lunch when he looked up to see Dannie gesture toward him as she spoke with a client. Looked like his next appointment had arrived, he thought, and headed back to the tattoo chair to get to work. He spent the next few hours working on several tattoos. Finally, as he headed out he grabbed Mischka by the arm, spinning him toward him.

"Hey, we're riding this weekend, really need it after this week." Varick looked at him and gave him a curt nod.

Mischka paused, and Varick was sure his face was turning red. "Um, okay, ah, I'll let my boy know..."

Varick clapped him on the back. "See ya in the morning, I'll bring some bleach to get the pink shit outta your hair. Even if the  _Mieze_  look is good on you." He headed out, shrugging on his leather as he left.

Varick had just about shut the door when he heard Mischka's voice behind him. "Damn that man," followed by a giggle from Dannie. Varick paused and glanced back to see him heading back to his desk. He wondered what his comment had been about.

* * * * *

During the long hour surgery on Janet Edison, Kieran didn't sense the passage of time. For him, fourteen hours might as well have been fourteen minutes. He never watched the clock; he only watched his work. As tedious as this type of surgery tended to be, he enjoyed it. This type of highly complex surgery allowed him to hyper-focus on the smallest of details. With his obsession fulfilled for the next week, his temperament would improve drastically. As much as he hated people watching him, he managed to ignore it. Above him, sets of eyes watched his every move and whispered in amazement at the effortless way he worked. Kieran put himself into a zone where he and the patient existed alone.

The watchers often were there because Kieran did the impossible. Every patient he worked on was a "lost cause" and had been told they were dying. So far, he'd only lost one patient, and it had not been his fault. No one blamed him, yet Kieran saw it in a different way, even if he didn't say so in words. The patient had been on street drugs when the surgery began, and the addition of the anesthesia had caused repertory depression. Kieran could not let the loss go, and every time he stepped into the surgery theater, the face of the one patient he had lost loomed in front of him. He could not lose another.

Finally, he closed up, stripped his gloves, and pulled his mask down and let out a shaky sigh. The surgery done, he would be able to come down off his high. It took a little time for him to bring himself from the near trance-like state he entered during intense surgery. Generally, he stood in the prep room outside the surgery for almost half an hour before he was ready to leave.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to look at Mary. "Ready to go do your duty, Dr. Sung?"

Despite Kieran's irritation at her, he nodded and headed to the waiting room. The amount of people had increased and he visibly stiffened, getting a pat on the back from his nurse. He saw Mrs. Edison standing by the coffee pot talking to a man Kieran assumed was Mr. Edison. The blonde, Clair, was sitting with a white throw away cup and looking at her phone. Beside her sat an intimidating looking man with tricolored hair. Even though Kieran rarely focused on others, this man drew his attention immediately. Wonderful, he thought to himself. There were even more people to ask questions and barrage him with even more anxiety.

Kieran swallowed, put on his fake smile, and stepped into the fray.

* * * * *

Varick got back to the hospital at almost eight at night. He was tired, but he had promised Clair to be there for her. Janet wouldn't know if he was there or not, but Clair needed the support. He made his way back to the waiting room, head down and ignoring the people who stared at him. Sometimes, like this morning, it amused him. After a long day, he was no longer entertained by their glares and excessive attention. He opened the door to the surgery waiting room and found Clair, Janet's parents, and her two aunts all seated. He guessed Janet was still in surgery, or in recovery by now.

Varick sat down next to Clair and leaned over to bump shoulders with her. "Hey sis, how are things?"

Clair smiled, putting away her phone. "So far so good. The little nurse has come out five times so far to update us. She said there were some minor complications, but for the most part things were going as expected. She said there was nothing to worry about."

"Good news, huh?" Varick confirmed with a smile.

Clair nodded, wringing her hands for a moment before pulling out her phone again. Varick smiled, seeing she was playing solitaire. Some things never changed. As children, solitaire had been the only type of card games Clair had ever cared about. Varick thought Clair knew more ways of playing solitaire than anyone he knew. Her favorite was one called Algerian, which was generally winnable, but took a ton of strategy. As kids, they used to mix things up and play a variation called double solitaire where two people could play. It had led to many fingernail cuts from his sister as they tried to place cards on each other's spreads.

Varick ended up walking around the hospital more than once over the next three hours. He had a phone, but he was not the best with technology, so his was very basic. Instead he read all the boring magazines and paced the floors. More than one person gave him an odd look as they walked by to see him reading about home improvement and gardening in the waiting room. He always liked the artistic nature of landscaping and home design.

The nicest thing he found in his wandering about was a little enclosed garden a couple floors down. It had several benches and a nice grassy area in the middle with floral borders around it. In the center, there was a sculpted fountain. It opened up above to the sky but covered in glass to keep the flowers blooming year-round. He narrowed his eyes but he couldn't tell what they were from two floors above. It looked like there were a few beds of pink and white flowers. He wandered back to Janet's room and noticed he could see the garden clearly from her window.

The door swung open and Mary came in with a short, dark haired man in a doctor's coat and lavender scrubs. He looked around the room, and then stepped forward. Everyone started to get up and move toward him. Varick blinked in surprise as he got closer because he could see the name tag read Dr. Kieran Sung. Neither Janet nor Clair had mentioned how incredibly adorable the doctor was. Varick shook his head. Nope, stop it, not here for that, but he found it odd. He rarely found others attractive in more than an aesthetic sense.

The young doctor cleared his throat and smiled a very fake looking smile. Varick immediately noticed his voice shook a bit as he spoke.

"Uh, Janet is in recovery now, and she will be able to have visitors within an hour or two. Limit it to fifteen minutes or less for tonight. We've made exception for visiting hours tonight for you. It has been a long surgery, and she'll need her rest. The surgery was successful with minimal complication. She will remain in the ICU unit until Wednesday morning, then I will transfer her to surgery recovery. I have requested she stay for two weeks at least. I know this is a long recovery time for this surgery, but I worry about post-surgery testing. The removal of the tumor was a little more difficult than anticipated, but I am sure there will be little to no permanent damage. The tumor was more invasive than I expected, so I will have scans run at the end of this week. I will also do the same at the end of next week to verify there are no remaining traces of the tumor. She will still need to face some testing to ensure there are no other problems, such as her speech, reading, and cognition. Now, uh, if you will excuse me, I have to head in for the night." He took a deep breath and then bowed at the waist slightly.

"But what if something happens, if you leave, what happens to her if she something goes wrong?" Clair asked, wringing her hands.

The doctor looked even more anxious and Varick frowned to see him shift back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I apologize, but I have been in surgery for fourteen hours and I have to eat and sleep soon. I do not leave the hospital for at least twenty-four hours after a surgery of this magnitude. If something happens, believe me, they shall find me or wake me up."

The doctor turned on his heels and left before anyone could say anything else, and seemed to trip over thin air. He stopped, visibly realigned his limbs, and headed off to the elevator. Varick assumed to get some food as he said.

"Did he just trip over nothing?" Varick said to Clair. "He must really be tired." He picked up his jacket and shrugged his black leather jacket back on.

"Varick, shh," she whispered, frowning as she watched Mary talk to Ms. Edison. "Why don't you go to the cafeteria and get something to eat, yeah? And don't scare anyone, you big bear."

He shrugged. "Sure, you want something?"

Clair shook her head, and Varick left, shoving hands into his pockets and heading to the elevator. He was fascinated, though, by the doctor. The guy was younger than him, yet he was the head of neurosurgery. And damn cute, to boot. Varick grinned. Well, wouldn't it be funny if he tried to snag a doctor for himself... He snorted at the thought. Yeah, right. Like someone that looked like him would ever get himself an upstanding citizen for a partner. He stood in the elevator and thought how odd it was for him to find someone attractive. He usually didn't. Actually, he had never found anyone attractive as a possible partner. He would admire their physical appearance, and he quite enjoyed a wide variety of body types of all genders. He didn't feel like he wanted to do anything else besides look, most the time. This felt different. He wanted to talk to him, and he wanted to touch his face and kiss those tired looking eyes. He was startled of the thoughts when the elevator doors opened.

Varick entered the cafeteria and looked around, idly clicking the silver sphere in his tongue against his front teeth. He smiled as he looked up to see a white coat with dark mop of shaggy hair standing in line at the food counter. The doctor was humming to himself and looking over the cold food items since it was eight at night. The cafeteria kitchen was closed and the hot foods were gone. The only people in the cafeteria at this hour were a few visitors and a very bored looking cashier.

Varick glanced over as the doc picked out what looked to be a sandwich and studied it for a moment with a scowl. He then put it on his tray, and chose a carton of chocolate milk. Varick smirked. Wow, what a kid, he thought, then followed him through and chose a similar meal, with a far more suitable drink of a cola. He observed as the doctor picked a seat in the farthest corner of the room and sat down, removing the white doctor's coat. He started picking apart the sandwich, causing Varick to tilt his head and stare. Soon there were discreet piles: onions, pickles, and tomatoes, each piled on the napkin. He then folded the napkin and sat it aside. The lettuce and meats were carefully replaced on the bread and topped with the slice of cheese. The doc had to adjust it twice before he got it to the place he liked. He nodded at the sandwich and closed it up, and Varick swore he glared at the parcel of unwanted toppings. Before he realized what he was doing, Varick was headed toward the young doctor's table. He figured it was all in or not at all.

* * * * *

After the surgery, Kieran was mostly on auto-pilot. He talked to the family, then he managed to get himself down to the cafeteria. He could feel his blood sugar was low, and his legs were going to start cramping soon. Times like these, after standing for hours at a time, he really wished he could take muscle relaxers or something. He managed to get his food and sit down as far away from everyone else as he could He did not want to have to deal with people after surgery, and he would go find himself a place to sleep after he ate something. Artemis would fuss at him if he did not eat before he went to sleep after surgery.

Kieran started almost violently when a tray landed on the table next to him with a slight thump. He looked up, locking his dark blue eyes with Varick's for the barest second before he shifted his gaze to the spot between Varick's eyes. Kieran blinked, swallowing his bite of food. This was the tall man from upstairs with the tricolored hair. He never differentiated between "group" members, but the strange hair he recognized. Of course, he was mostly oblivious to his surroundings, but someone with blue, purple, and green hair? Bright hair tended to stand out even in Kieran's mind.

"Um, yeah, can I help you?" he asked, picking up the milk and sipping through the straw, not taking his eyes off the man in front of him. It was not like he was suspicious, though he should be, he thought to himself. The man was huge and menacing looking, to be honest. He was at least a foot taller than Kieran and had to outweigh him by a hundred or more pounds. He had piercings in his face, and tattoos in addition to his hair. He thought he remembered his name was Varick or something like it from what he had heard around Janet's room.

"Huh, just thought I'd be friendly and sit with you. Seem off on your own." Varick spoke in a surprisingly proper and cultured sounding voice. Kieran had to reevaluate his observations of this individual. Obviously, he was more than his appearance. One of the things Kieran tended to struggle with was taking people, and words, completely at face value. He tended to evaluate someone based on first impressions, and it often led to him not understanding them.

Kieran nodded, taking another bite of his sandwich. After a moment, he looked over to see the vibrant-haired man was quite comfortable at a table with a complete stranger. "Um, I am not much for company; most people tend to steer clear of me."

Varick stared at the young doctor for a long moment. "Well, name's Varick by the way, but you can call me Leo. Why would people steer clear of you? You seem like a good guy. Certainly cute."

This very attractive man just called him cute. He shivered a bit with a feeling he didn't understand. Despite his nervousness, or perhaps because of it, he felt his face heating. "Um, I have been told I am...what was it, caustic. Blunt. I tend to be overly honest and people do not like such things too much, I have found."

Varick was really fascinated with the young doctor now, especially now as he saw a blush moving up his face. "Ah, well, their loss. More honesty would do people good." Varick was watching as Kieran took a bite of his sandwich. Kieran felt his eyebrow twitch.

"My dad said when they were handing out tact, they must have missed me completely," Kieran explained. He felt the heavy pull of exhaustion on his lids. "It is hard to try to remember people do not like truth most the time. Gets me into a lot of trouble."

"Hey!" he shouted, startling more than one nearby late night patron into glaring at him.

Kieran started, nearly kicking the table, blinking. He blinked and looked at the concerned expression on the other man's face. He was glad he spent so much time studying facial expressions for times like this. "Sorry, I get exhausted after a long surgery like today. Especially when there are so many factors. I felt like I needed two more hands in there."

"Don't you have nurses?" Varick was frowning at him and for a moment was afraid he'd said something wrong. "Or other doctors? I thought long surgeries you guys like traded off or something."

Kieran smiled, attempting to seem normal, finishing his milk. "Most do, but I...I do not allow anyone in my surgeries. I must control every aspect otherwise I cannot work. I use my nurses to do things like hold clamps, use the sponges, but I do the cutting, sawing, suturing, and everything. I cannot afford to let anyone else into the surgery. What I do...no one else really can do."

"Humble, aren't we?" Varick asked, leaning back in the chair with a cocky grin. He crumbled the wrapper to the sandwich and laid it down beside the cola bottle. He noticed he'd started peeling the label unconsciously. Dammit, he thought to himself as he glared at the label. He hadn't peeled a label in a long damn time. Usually only when he and Mischka went out for drinks after work...

Kieran frowned and thought it over for a second then nodded. "Ah, I see, you perceive me to sound like I am bragging and boasting about my skill."

Varick's grin turned to a frown at the curious turn of phrase. "What do you mean by that?"

The doctor shook his head. "I apologize, I tend to be honest about my skill and it tends to put off others as well. I used to get teased and bullied in school for it. Well, my bluntness and my awful coordination. Oh well, I guess I should be glad my hands work perfectly, even if the rest of me does not."

Varick smiled slyly, realizing very quickly this young doctor was completely honest in more ways than one. "You really aren't boasting."

Kieran quirked an eyebrow at him as he picked up his tray and stood up. "Of course not. Boasting serves no purpose."

Varick nodded, following the dark-haired doctor as he dumped his tray. He watched as he disposed of the package of remaining things from his sandwich. Kieran stumbled on something, or nothing, and fell into Varick's body. Kieran gasped as he felt a strange sensation shoot up his spine he had never felt before as Varick tightly grasped him around the shoulders to steady him. Kieran felt a blush rise at the closeness of the larger man, and he noted he smelled faintly of something familiar, but he could not place the scent.

"Oh, sorry about that. Gets worse the more tired I get," Kieran explained to him. He took a deep breath as Varick set him up on his feet again. Kieran noted as this man touched him, despite his size, and obvious strength, he was careful not to grab him in too tight of a grip.

"What does?" Varick asked with a curious stare, his hands lingering on his thin arms a bit too long. Kieran's heart was pounding in his ears now, but he was not sure why.

"Dyspraxia. It is a motor condition I have." Kieran swallowed repeatedly before he could continue. His heart was still pounding and his face felt hot. "I am lucky, most people have it affect their fine motor skills too, but for me it seems to just affect the gross motor. Used to be worse when I was a kid." He turned and moved toward the exit and waved to the man. "Nice talking to you, um, going to sleep for a while."

Kieran got out the door and to the elevator and held the door closed button for a few seconds as he forced his heart to calm down. Why was his body reacting this way? He felt like a bunch of fluttering things were loose in his belly, and he felt slightly sick. Worse than that, he felt flushed and he wanted to go back to the cafeteria and talk to him again. He wanted to find out all about him and he wanted that strange man to hold him again. This was so very strange and he was not sure what to do with it. He pressed a hand against his crotch with wide eyes.  _That_  did not happen often at all. Why would this be happening? He closed his eyes and forced his body under control, hitting the button for seven and scrubbing his hands over his face. He should ask Artemis. He knew about these things because he had a boyfriend. He would definitely ask him what this meant.

* * * * *

"Are yeh sure about this?" Conner was frowning as he sat across from his partner in the Randy's Diner down off North New Ballas. There were people everywhere, but it was one of the only all-night diners in the area. He had misgivings about the whole plan his friend had come up with. He ran his hand through his stringy, undercut auburn hair for the hundredth time tonight. He and his brother hadn't left his mother in Ireland to come work in the states to get involved in something like this.

"Dude, really, this is so feckin' perfect." Barry was grinning at Conner across the table.

"I dunno, this is risky," he responded quietly. "I mean, I know he looked like the perfect mark, but what if he's under protection? What if we cannae get 'im separated from the fat little nurse that's always following 'im around? Or the scary lookin' nurse always shadowing 'im when he's around?"

Barry sighed and rolled his dark eyes at his friend. "Look, we're in feckin' deep to Callaghan. If we don't do something, we're never leaving St. Louis. At least, not alive. This is a golden opportunity. If it hadn't been for the call I got from some weird dude the other day, I wouldn'ta thought 'bout it. But don't tell Callaghan we had any help with this. We can't let him know anyone else even knows about this scheme, let alone gave us the whole idea."

"But this guy, yeh don't even know who he is? Just some guy tha' walked up to you after we lost the drugs? Idn't that suspicious? Aren't yeh worried the guy might have had something to do with the drugs getting' stolen?" Conner asked with a deep frown.

"Nah, we know it was the stupid East St. Louis black gang." Barry had a sour look on his face as he shook his head. "We saw that asshole running away from the drop. They snuck into the drop point and snagged it before we got there. Boss expects us to drop the shipment off by Friday, and if we don't do somethin', he's going to feckin' kill us on sight. That was a lot of money worth of feckin' coke." Seven and a half million dollars' worth of cocaine was a lot of coke to lose.

Conner sighed and ran his hand through his hair again, pausing to rub the saved portion near the back of his neck. "I...I dunno. Kidnappin'?"

"Yeah, look, it couldn't be easier. You said he was weird and took off alone a lot. He's a feckin' doctor. He's got money, look here." Barry turned his tablet around so Conner could see the page he'd pulled up. It was the webpage for McKellar hospital with the profile for a doctor on it. "Look at this, his father's a fuckin' doctor too. It means bank, Conner, like lotsa bank."

Conner bit on his lip and looked at Barry. "But...will tha' be enough? Say we pull this shite off, is it gonna be enough to get us out of debt for the shipment? Will it make him happy enough to forget we got it stolen?" He spoke in a low tone of voice as a couple walked by with the hostess.

"No, but I know how to get to the bastard without putting us into any further danger. Because look at this." Conner took his tablet back and pulled up a website for a book publisher. "Read down about halfway."

Conner shook his head and muttered as he read. "Autistic prodigy, neurology, son of a Korean immigrant, father is a pediatric surgeon, grandson of..." He looked up at Barry. "Holy feck, this...oh this is perfect. Do yeh think the boss knows about this?"

"Look at him. Does he look like he's half Irish? His last name is Sung, and he looks like his Korean father of his," Barry said with a cocked eyebrow. "But knowin', you can see it in his face. The eyes and the cheeks. He's got his father's skintone, but he's got those big, dark blue eyes."

Conner shook his head. "No, cannae tell he's Irish blood at first look at all. Why would they put this for public view? That's feckin' insane. This makes him a feckin' target to anyone who knows his grand-da. But we can use it," he said as he started to come around to Barry's idea.

"See, I know what I'm talkin' 'bout."

"So, we ransom him to his father, then we give 'im to the boss? Won't he just kill 'im?" Conner said. He honestly didn't want to see someone die because of this.

"That's the beautiful part," Barry grinned. "Boss has this thing for boys."

Conner arched a brow. "Lotsa folk have a ting for boys. I mean, I know boss is old school, and probably don't want a bunch of people know he like feckin' other dudes, but this day 'n age..."

"No, you don't get it. How old does this doctor look to you?" Barry smirked slowly.

Conner shook his head. "I dunno, like sixteen or some shit, he's a feckin' twink looking bitch."

"Yeah, boss don't just like boys. He likes lil' boys. The younger lookin' the better."

Conner looked at him as a genuine smile spread across his face. "So, we pay 'im what the shipment we had pinched by the other gang was worth, then we give 'im this doctor as a way to encourage him not to blow our brains out. Then, just to be feckin' sure, we take off with some of the cash and disappear to the feckin' Bahamas or something," he said. "I dunno if it will work, but we're dead when he finds out we lost the shipment."

Barry nodded. "We got nothin' to lose, buddy. Not a damn thing."


	3. The Actor and the Stage

* * *

 

The director, Jason Twillen, yelled over the din of the other actors running back and forth inside the new Highland Theater.

"Alright, where's my Benedick!" rang out as the company prepared for their first public production. The theater was brightly lit for rehearsal and the whole place smelled of new fabric and cleaning supplies. Tomorrow was the opening night for the production as well as the theater itself.

Carmine Deangelo, Benedick, was flirting with one of the new actresses and hadn't heard the call for his character. The actress was playing one of the bit parts in the production, and it was the first time he'd encountered her in the St. Louis acting community. She was a shorter woman with a plump figure and lovely wavy brown hair.

"No, really, I'm serious!" he told her, smiling brilliantly at her, his dark eyes sparkling.

She giggled. "I don't think I should talk to you like this, Mr. Deangelo."

"What? Why? And call me Carmine, sweetheart. Really, I think you're cute as a button in a corset." He gave her an expressive wink and made no attempt to hide the fact he was looking directly down her cleavage. . "With a figure like yours, you are destined for greatness, and you have such personality." He kept his voice low as he leaned against the wall backstage.

The woman blushed brightly and covered her face with her hands. Her dark hair was done in a mockup of the fancy hairstyle she'd wear for the play. "Goodness, they were right! You are incorrigible!"

"Wha'? Because I like what I see?" he purred and smirked at her. He took a moment and traced a finger over the bottom of the corset, the contrast of the white fabric striking against his dark skin.

"I didn't think I was the type you'd hit on, Mr. Deangelo."

Carmine shook his head. "Why wouldn't I hit on you? You're gorgeous." He knew why; the woman was older, perhaps in her mid to late thirties, with a thick figure and she probably didn't think she deserved his attention.

"Oh, um, I think the director is calling for you..." Her face reddened even further as she turned away from him, disappearing into the group of fellow extras.

It wasn't like he expected to get a date out of her, but he really did think she was cute. He figured she should know. He glanced toward the front of the stage and knew if Twillen was yelling he should go find out what he wanted. With a sigh, he went to the front where the director was standing talking to someone. Any minute he'd realize Carmine hadn't approached him yet and yell again. When he was halfway to the front, he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see Julien giving him a shy smile.

"Oh, Jules," he smirked, patting the short boy's hand. "How you, sweetheart?"

"Um, Carmine, ah, do you think maybe after rehearsal...ah...could we get coffee today?" he asked. He had a wide eyed and hopeful look on his face. "I don't have to be home until late. We could, you know, maybe go do something..."

Carmine hated to turn him down, he did enjoy the boy's company, but he wasn't even sixteen yet; he was one of the high school kids helping with the production. "Oh, Jules, I've got an appointment for a radio interview after rehearsal, I'll have to take a raincheck? Maybe when we all go out after the production this weekend?" There was no way he was going to take out a kid by himself, but if he wanted to go out with the group, it would be fine.

With a duck of his head, Julien took off, face red. He sighed and shook his head.

"Damn, what is it with you and the high school boys?" Persephone, one of the actresses he'd worked on several productions with, commented as she came up to him.

"They hear I'm bi, and they all think they found someone to look up to. Which is fine, but I wish they'd quit trying to get me to fuck," he muttered. "I know I'm known as a player, but I'm not a damn pedophile."

"I said, where is my Benedick?"

"Shit, later, Seph." He left her to go over where Twillen stood, pushing his purple plastic rimmed glasses up his nose.

It was obvious Twillen's mood wasn't good today. His shirt was untucked, and his hair was messy. Twillen was always put together unless he'd had a fight with his husband. Carmine knew he was going to get it for being late this morning. Chewing his lip as he ran a hand over his close cropped black hair and got up the courage to go on ahead. He moved through the various groups of the actors waiting for instructions from the director. Everyone was getting into position for a complete run through of the play before the debut tomorrow evening. Several turned to look as he made his way through them. He always caught the attention of other people. After all, he was quite the striking character. He'd been blessed with his mother's soft facial features, smoldering dark eyes, and skin of light brown that made him stand out quite a bit among the mostly white cast. However, it was his attitude and natural charisma which caught the most attention.

His flirtatious nature made others assume he had a nonstop string of lovers. Honestly, he flirted more than he dated. It left him with the reputation, though. He had gone through several lovers, male, female, and other, but they usually ended because of things that had nothing to do with his flirting. People could handle him at his best, but they couldn't handle him at his worst. He felt it was okay. He'd keep looking for someone who was able to take him however he was.

Once he got up beside the director, he called out, "Hey, I'm here."

"You're late," Twillen glared at him.

"Um, yeah, sorry, I just got up late. My mom had a bad night last night, and I-"

The director cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I don't care, Deangelo. One more tardy, and I will put your understudy in the role."

He ground his teeth and nodded. If he wasn't careful, he'd lose his spot and he couldn't take the risk. As much as he hated working for the man, he couldn't get bumped off this production. The chance of actually getting a contract with any theater in St. Louis was low, and he had worked hard to get it. The Highland Theater was steady work, and he'd landed a position as one of the lead cast members. His mom was counting on him to stay employed.

"Yeah, got it, got it," he sighed, putting on his fake smile as he left to go get ready to run his lines.

"Man, is it just me, or does he hate you special?" muttered one of his cast mates.

"Darren, you know he doesn't like..." Carmine paused, glancing at his fellow. Darren was a typical theater kid from high school; he was well educated from day one, and more than being educated, he was white... "me," he finished. He knew mentioning the fact he was one of the few nonwhite people in the entire production wouldn't mean anything to Darren.

He had been the first one to come up to Carmine on this production and proudly proclaim he was one of those people who "didn't see color." He did say he loved his work. Darren wouldn't understand what it was like for him on this kind of production. He was the sole nonwhite actor in the production.

Carmine would get through it despite the director's passive aggressive racism. He would do what he did best: bring in people to watch the show. And people would come just to see him. Lots of people loved his acting, and he was well on his way to becoming one of the best-known stage actors in St. Louis. His Othello had been good enough to be awarded some fancy statue for it, but it felt hollow. He thought his Macbeth had been better than Othello, and before Macbeth, he felt like he had completely owned Mercutio. Those, however, had gotten no real recognition. Both had been voted fan favorites for their respective plays, but until he took on Othello, he had received no official recognition. It was frustrating.

Everyone got into their positions for the first run through of the day. He kept thinking about what he had going on later in the day. At least he had a chance to go to the radio station and do an interview for his friend Charles. Twillen had been happy he was going to give the production some extra advertisement. He knew Charles said here was another guest today, a local doctor, on the show.

He let a grin split his face because after that, he was heading to the club. He wanted to see the blonde sub he'd spent past few weekends with; Loki had been his scene name. Carmine had no idea what his real name was, but he was hoping to see him tonight to get his number. Who knew, maybe they could hit it off in the real world? After all, there hadn't much talking while he was flogging his pale skin. He shivered. Watching those red marks appear against his light-colored flesh had been far more amazing than he imagined. Especially when Carmine cock buried to the hilt in his ass. He smirked, remembering the way he'd absolutely writhed in ecstasy under the flogger... He shook his head to clear his thoughts before he became too distracted.

These people all thought they knew him. They believed he was a whore, and sometimes he thought he was too. But he really wasn't. A lot of partners don't stick around when they hear the phrase "I have bipolar disorder" come out of someone's mouth, so he didn't tell them, instead telling them he was moody. Of course, they all liked him when he was happy. Things went bad for him when he wasn't happy.

Luckily, word of his down periods didn't get around. He was sure he'd never get a part again if they knew he had to carefully monitor his own mental state. He was on an upswing right now, though, so he knew the jittery feeling was going to come on soon. He was going to have to be careful, because if he shifted all the way up into a major manic phase, he might get in trouble again.

He pulled out his phone and checked the med-minder, and he'd ticked off his medicine this morning. He breathed out.  _It was all good_ , he thought to himself. As long as he took his medication, he could keep it under control. Most of the time. He'd still swing into his manic phase, there was no stopping it, but at worse, he'd be impulsive and hyper. He just had to watch himself over the next couple months. Keeping his libido in check would be the hardest part. Why his impulse control problems were rooted in his sex drive, he had no idea.

For now, he just had to get through the morning at rehearsal. Afterward, he would go to the radio studio for the show with Charles. Then later tonight, they would head to club. And if he was lucky, the fiery sub would be there again.

"Everyone, places! Act four, scene one! Benedick and Beatrice!" Twillen shouted from in front of the stage.

Carmine turned and smiled at the woman playing Beatrice and began the dialogue.

Carmine stepped into the office of the broadcast studio before the lunch hour show began. He ran a hand over his head to comb out the water. Of course it would start raining right as he stepped out of the car. As he turned to shut the door behind him, he glanced outside and saw the clouds weren't dispersing. But at least it wasn't a heavy rain. It was a good thing it waited until after rehearsal. Missouri weather was nothing if unpredictable. He walked toward the waiting area of the plain office and looked through the large window into the recording booth. His friend Charles Ruebern was doing the pre-lunch show music and announcements.

Since there was fifteen minutes before the show began, Carmine sat down in the one of the comfortable chairs that looked into the recording studio. He grabbed one of the books on the table. It looked like this one was a gardening magazine from 2007. He needed to get Charles to buy some decent reading material if he wanted to interview him more often.

He was glad Charles was happy again. Last year his childhood friend had come home after being medically discharged from the army. He'd had his leg nearly taken off by an IED. In the end, he had suffered permanent damage to the nerves along his thigh and had terrible scars. He hadn't known what to do with his life since he'd planned on a military career. Carmine had encouraged him to pursue his dream to be a radio DJ and host. Charles liked to joke he even came equipped with a radio face.

In the studio, Charles was nervously picking at the microphone. Carmine grinned because today was a big interview for Charles. For the past six months, he'd been working for this small independent AM station. For the last three of those months, he'd had this show at the lunch hour block. Due to his lackluster guests, his ratings were rather. This was his chance to finally interview someone who mattered to the St. Louis community, which was one of the reasons he'd asked Carmine onto the same show. It was a good way for Charles to have Carmine there as support as well as give Carmine some support for his craft.

The front door opened, and he looked up to see a short, dark-haired young man and a taller gray-haired the room. The younger man wore black jeans and a t-shirt and seemed annoyed at being steered into the room by the older guy in a gray three-piece suit.  _He certainly is a cute little thing_ , he thought. Of course, his mind descended completely into the gutter when the younger guy turned around. Carmine bit his lip, trying not to stare at the guy's ass. The jeans he was wearing clung in all the right places, showing off his pert bubble butt.

 _Impulse control_ , he told himself. He couldn't go trying and sex up everyone he saw, especially right now. He made a promise to Charles that he was going to be more careful. Instead, he tried to focus on the interview coming up.  _Strawberry's would take care of things until it passed_ , he mused, eyes moving back to the guy's ass again. Every time he shifted, the denim clung to every curve making Carmine want to grab him and lick him from toe to head, while pausing to play extensively right in the middle of his adorable ass. Dammit, if a cute guy in jeans was revving his engine this bad, he was really letting his libido run wild today. At this rate, he was going to explode just thinking about an ass.

"Kieran, relax," the older man sighed, fussing with the young man's clothes.

 _Kieran_ , he thought to himself.  _What a cute name for the guy._  Carmine glanced up now and then as the older guy pushed Kieran's dark hair back from his face. He noticed he was clenching and unclenching his hands repeatedly. The taller man shoved what looked like a blue stress ball into one of them.

"Thank you, Thomas," Kieran exhaled, squeezing the ball again and again. "I know people will not be able to see me, but it does not help my anxiety. I know there are people listening to me."

 _So, the old guy's name was Thomas_ , Carmine noted.

"Just speak to the host like we discussed about. Just think of this as talking to someone new." Thomas smiled and put both hands on Kieran's shoulders

Shifting his weight on his hips, Kieran turned his face up and glared at the older man. Carmine moved uncomfortably because goddamn his cock was threatening to draw attention to himself. He swallowed dryly and kept trying to act like he wasn't listening. The acoustics of the room carried sound well, so he didn't have to stare at them to overhear. It was obvious the younger of the pair didn't care one bit about being overheard, but the older kept trying to shush him. He appeared to be growing more and more agitated.

"You know it does not help at all. I do not do well with people as it is, and new people are even worse," he stated. "Thomas, how can I do this? I cannot do this," he whined out, squeezing the stress ball almost hard enough to pop it. Carmine could see the blue peeking through his fingers.

"Just think that you're talking to Mary," the older man told him. Carmine noticed he clenched his fists tighter at that thought. "Okay, then pretend you're talking to Artemis." Now, the younger man did seem to relax a little.

Thomas adjusted the waistband of Kieran's jeans then pulled at the plain black and blue striped t-shirt. This drew Carmine's eyes to Kieran's stomach where it flashed briefly. It was enough to show the beginnings of his happy trail where it disappeared under the band of the low-rise jeans.

Crossing his legs, Carmine tried to think of anything else. The kid had to be too young for the club, and Carmine was a pervert, but he would never touch anyone under eighteen. Admire, yes, jerk off to afterward, yes, but never touch. If they were too young for the club, he didn't want to chance it. Thankfully, he had Loki to take his mind off this.

"You know this is what needs to happen. Every time you end up in a confrontation with a patient, you get more and more stressed. I'm afraid you're going to have one of those episodes again. It's been years, I don't want us to return to that. The last time we almost had to put you in a care facility, remember?" Thomas was obviously starting to get annoyed. Carmine could tell he was trying not to be heard.

Carmine's brow furrowed despite his attempts to act like he wasn't listening. A care facility? What in the world would someone his age need to go to a care facility for?  _It would have to be mental health,_  he thought, remembering his own episode when his bipolar disorder had gotten out of hand, pre-diagnosis. Turned out, not sleeping for two-weeks is a bad thing, and so was having sex with every person he could get while he wasn't asleep.

A young woman came around the corner and smiled at the pair. "Dr. Sung, come on in, you're up first."

A heavy sigh brought Carmine's attention back to Thomas and Kieran. "Look, ignore everything except the DJ. He's not there to embarrass you; he's there to find out about your life and what you've been through. You have nothing to hide and I've provided him with a basic file. He's been given the script you were practicing with this week. Stick to answering his questions, and don't go on any tangents," he ordered. He gently pushed the young man toward the door with the glaring red light. Carmine noted the way the kid seemed to be resistant to doing this.

Kieran chewed at his thumbnail before stopping to stare at his hands. Carmine could tell they were shaking.  _Hmm, interesting_ , he thought to himself, thinking the kid had pretty bad stage fright.  _Kid_ , wait, she called him doctor... He couldn't be a kid. Carmine had no idea how long medical school took, but his degree took him four years after high school. He'd been twenty-two when he graduated from UMSL, so that meant he had to be older than that.

"Thomas, squeeze me before you make me do this," he muttered in a quiet tone. "I know Father normally does it, but I need it now or..."

Thomas pulled him into a very tight embrace, only letting go when Kieran relaxed a bit. He pushed him back to arm's length. "Better?"

 _Curious_ , Carmine thought as he watched him go into the studio. Kieran glanced at Thomas and sighed again. Carmine stood up and went to stand beside Thomas to see the interview. He smiled as he saw the doctor get into the chair and look around with flittering eyes. Watching the interview would be more interesting than years old magazines on health and wellness.

He nodded to the other man, "Hey man, what's up?"

The gray-haired guy smiled. "Just very happy. This is the first of many interviews for him."

Carmine cocked an eyebrow. "He didn't seem so happy about doin' it," he informed Thomas, then turned back to the window as the doctor got ready.

"No, but he'll do them. He'll do what I tell him needs to be done," he explained, crossing his arms and staring through the glass.

Carmine gave a sideways glance to the guy for the tone of voice he used. Something about the statement bothered him. He hated making assumptions, but to him it sounded almost too controlling to be good for this young doctor. He decided. He'd get him away from this old man and ask him out after the show.

* * * * *

The man was a decent looking man, Kieran thought. He had trim dark brown hair and a set of wide-set hazel eyes. He could read the military posture immediately on this man. Normally such a strict stance would have put him off, but he had a ready smile and winked at Kieran before he started talking into the microphone.

"And welcome back, listeners! As promised, I have a special guest for you today on Local Talk with CJ. Today we have local neurosurgeon, Dr. Kieran Sung from McKellar hospital!" he said and pressed a button; there was a weird bonging noise in the headphones.

Kieran frowned and squeezed the stress ball again. He looked over and saw there was a glass window and saw Thomas was on the other side smiling encouragement. He saw another man watching him with an amused smirk. Kieran took a deep breath and reminded himself this was only the first of many interviews. Thomas said this was for the best and he trusted him. It was for the best.

"So first off, doc, can you tell us how you managed the monumental feat of becoming the head of neurosurgery at the ripe old age of twenty-five?" he asked, leaning forward expectantly.

Kieran swallowed the rising fear in his throat. Even though he couldn't see the listeners, knowing they were there was giving him a huge amount of anxiety. One or two people, and he was fine, but, he had no idea how many people could hear him at the moment. He swallowed again, his throat clicking dryly.

"My father is a pediatrician, and I suppose it was always going to be my calling. I started reading his medical journals when I was about six or seven I believe. I was fascinated by the brain then. I guess the fascination I had with the brain is what led me to neurosurgery," Kieran dictated with a nod to the DJ. So far so good.

"Folks, I'd like you to understand he started reading medical journals at six. Now Dr. Sung, how is it you could do such a thing?" Charles requested, leading the questions just as they had scripted. Kieran let out a slow breath. It wasn't too bad so far.

"Well, at the time, my dad just thought I was a little advanced in reading, but he noticed I understood the journal articles. When I was eight I was failing school, and was picked up for special education testing. It was through the testing they discovered my problem was the material was too simple, and I needed to be advanced. The school could not account for my...ah...special needs properly. I was transferred to a special school, and graduated at 16 with my high school diploma. I finished a double bachelor's program in two years, to get my first degrees at 18," he recited from his script. He had practiced it so many times over the last week.

Charles nodded, glancing down at the script in front of him. "You mentioned testing; I assume one of those was an IQ test?"

Kieran narrowed his eyes at him and nodded. This was not in the script. "Um, yes, I test in approximately the range of 130 or 150, but IQ tests are somewhat skewed for people like me. Most of my ability has come from a lot of study and hard work. I have a natural inclination toward medicine, and that does help me with my interest in brains and neurosciences. Really, more than IQ, my study habits and dedication to the material has made me who I am today."

"You imply normal IQ testing isn't effective on you. Why?"

Kieran's eyes widened a bit. He knew the script the host had been given did not have such information, but he knew it was in the biography. He wondered why this DJ was so stuck on talking about his IQ scores. They were arbitrary measures of potential in individuals, and they most certainly were not the reason he had become as successful in neurosurgery as he had become. His potential ability helped, of course, but IQ was something that he never put much interest in since it was so varied. This DJ, however, appeared to want to discuss it further. There was no reason not to discuss it since the book was the reason he was on the show.

"Well, um, like it details in my biography, I have autism, mild or high functioning, as much as functioning labels matter. Because of the fact autistic people test differently, there is a possibility my brain differentiations make my IQ testing difficult. I also have hydrocephalus." He paused, seeing the confused look on the DJ. " is a condition characterized by 'water on the brain.'" It wasn't like he asked, but Kieran just wanted the interview to move forward.

Unfortunately, Charles returned to the subject of Kieran's autism without missing a beat. He leaned back in his seat and smiled. "Really? And how does this affect you? Autism, I've heard it is nearly a sentence of intellectual inferiority..."

Kieran bristled visibly, making the DJ frown at him. "It most certainly is not! Unless you are going to count Einstein among those inferiors. Many people have incredibly talented minds, and are able to accomplish much, if given the time and the patience. My focus is on brains and I am able to dedicate myself to a singular pursuit of studying, neurosurgery, and how best to heal the brain."

"Please, Dr. Sung, tell us how you've learned to cope with this disorder."

Kieran gritted his teeth as he felt frustration start to mount. The DJ had used the one word to describe his autistic nature that Kieran despised. Disorder. "It is no more of a disorder to me as having brown hair is to you. I think differently, to put it simply. I sense things more sharply and it gives me the ability to completely focus in on surgery and calculate hundreds of variables in my head at the same time."

Charles arched a brow at his annoyed guest. "Ah, yes, well, the obvious reason you are agreeing to interviews is due to the book coming out in the next month, which will be available..."

Charles ranted for a bit about the book while Kieran focused on his breathing. He had his hand tapping against his thigh. The show went to commercial. Kieran looked up to see Charles staring at him as he pushed the mic away a little and leaned toward Kieran.

"Hey, I'm sorry, man, didn't mean anything by it, just surprised. They didn't get me an advance copy of the book...all I had to go on is what the old doctor told me on the phone," Charles explained with a sheepish smile.

Kieran bit his lip. "Yes, I understand. But you went off script and it is not easy for me to handle on a good day. Being in this unfamiliar situation makes today not one of those good days."

"I'm sorry, really. We'll chat a bit more about your childhood and then we'll go to the next guest and he might ask a couple things, I'm sure."

Kieran's eyes went wide. "I cannot leave when I am done?"

Charles smiled nervously. He couldn't afford to have the best guest in months leave halfway through the hour. "Well, I guess you could but it would be awkward explaining to the listeners since you're slated for being on for the whole hour..."

Kieran nodded. "Okay, but I can just sit there, right?"

"Sure!" Charles responded with a grin. He paused and "Welcome back!" he belted into the mic. "So, now I know you are all dying on some actual facts about our amazing doctor here. I'm going to go over this impressive life here. You can of course read more details of in his biography. So, to cover the basics, it says here you were born July 26th of 1990, at a mere twenty-six weeks gestation. Wow, you were one pound and seven ounces at birth? It is a simple miracle you survived, man," he marveled looking over the blurbs in the file. "The good doctor had a shunt put in for his hydrocephalus when he was three. It says here he was first diagnosed with autism at two due to non-development of language skills and a severe delay in motor skills. A diagnosis of dyspraxia at five, and then of course, at eight you were tested for intellectual delays and learning disorders only to find your IQ was over 120. You attended Channings in Chesterfield, and then you shot through the ranks of getting your degrees, including doing the impossible and completing a five-year medical program in four. He took a job as head of neurosurgery at his father's hospital at the age of 23."

Charles looked up and whistled. "This is amazing. Folks, this young man is phenomenal! Twenty-five years old and already well ahead of most of the men and women in his field thirty years his senior!"

"After this next commercial, we've got our next guest, Carmine Deangelo, local stage actor who is staring in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing this weekend at the brand-new Highland Theater!" Charles boomed and clicked off. The assistant had gone out to get the other man Kieran had seen standing with Thomas.

The door opened and the other man, Carmine Deangelo it seemed, entered the studio, grinning at Kieran and then Charles.

"Hey, Charles, how's it going?" Carmine inquired, sliding into the chair next to Kieran and smirking.

"Great, great! Better ratings than I've had since I started."

Kieran glanced over at the new man and felt a strange sensation He rarely felt it, but lately, he was feeling it more often. This Carmine was attractive, he decided. His skin was darker, so he was of African American descent. His hair was dark and close cropped to his head. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and Kieran could see a tattoo of a snake coiling around his left arm up onto his shoulder. He noticed he had pierced ears as well, and his voice was rich and strong. It made Kieran's mouth go a little dry for some strange reason. He supposed an actor would have to have a good voice, he thought as Carmine and Charles chatted around him.

"Hey, you sounded good," Carmine told him, jostling him out of his thoughts.

Kieran nodded. "Th-thanks, I do not do so well with these things."

Charles motioned to them to put on the headphones, and put on his own and started talking again. "Welcome back! And now, we have local stage actor, the incomparable Carmine Deangelo!" he crowed. "Tell ya a secret folks, if you didn't know it: Carmine here grew up with me down in Skinker DeBaliviere. He is a St. Louis boy, and something tells me he always will be. We've been friends since we were kids sneaking pieces of his ma's cannoli before it was cool right off the pan. Man, would we get in trouble for messing up his ma's kitchen! So, Carmine, you came here because I begged ya, right?"

"Too true, CJ," Carmine responded, looking at Charles, but Kieran noticed he looked to him again. "So, what didja want to know about me that ya don't already know?"

Charles laughed. "Ain't me who has to find out about you! Our listeners need to know all about you. Tell us about your current projects, first. We need all the information Highland Theater. You're a member of the newly created now, and your fans won't have to be looking for you all over town anymore!"

Kieran tuned out the next bit, trying to focus on his stress ball. He heard Carmine talk about the role he was playing, who else was in the play, details on when and where it was taking place, and then moved on to other projects the actor was interested in. Kieran thought it was taking forever even though he knew the interview only took a short while.  _Wait,_  he thought to himself, an hour? His interview had only taken fifteen minutes... That meant he'd have to talk again. Or they were going to have callers. He looked up at Thomas who stood in the doorway nodding to him. Why didn't Thomas give him the details about how this worked before he came in here?

"So, there we have the basics! Now we'll start taking callers. We know you are wanting to ask these two gentlemen questions!" Charles remarked smiling. He then clicked some buttons. "Caller, you're on!"

"Yeah, um, Carmine, this is for you, um, are you seeing anyone these days?" came a squeaky sounding female voice. There was a bunch of giggling in the background.

Carmine smiled. "Nah, I play the field, sweetheart. I'm always up for new experiences, why don't you come out and see the play, maybe we'll meet up." There were squeals in the background. "Kidding, kidding, but seriously, come see the play. It will be an amazing production!"

The girls squealed again and hung up the phone. Charles snickered, punching in another button. "Next caller."

"Question for the doctor. What do you do in your free time, it sounds like you do an awful lot of work and school!" came a younger sounding male voice.

Kieran paused a minute. "I...I like to read...mostly medical journals," he explained, sitting back to indicate he was done to the host.

"Ah, okay, next caller?" Charles said, arching a brow at Carmine. "Next? No one..." he muttered. "Try this again, next caller, you're on!"

The questions went on for a while, mostly for Carmine, for which Kieran was thankful. Then there was another one for him. "Caller, last one for the day, what's your question!" Charles requested cheerfully.

"Um, so, this is for the doctor, um, you said you're twenty-five, right? And I was wondering if you had a wife or anything yet?" came a female voice Kieran couldn't guess the age of.

Kieran swallowed. "Um, no, I don't really date at all," he stammered and leaned back.

"Do you like men or women?" she came back with before Charles could click her off the channel. 

"I...I...never thought about it." He spoke in a rush and Charles cut the call.

"Alright, that's all the time we have for today! Thank you for listening, and tune in next time because you never know who will show up on this show!" Charles said, going on to give the mini weather report and local news headlines.

Kieran concentrated on his stress ball, holding it between his leg and the arm of the chair and squeezing it hard, trying to keep a neutral face. While Charles was talking, Carmine pulled off his headphones and turned to Kieran who had already taken his off.

"Heya, Kieran was it?" Carmine whispered.

"Um-hum," Kieran muttered nodding, glancing up at him then back to the desk.

"What's up? Dontcha like me?" he responded, frowning a bit.

Kieran looked up and made a concentrated face at him. "I cannot like you nor dislike you as I do not know you."

"Huh, well that was a new one. Well, what do think of me so far anyway?" he returned, leaning toward him, a glint in his eye.

"You are forward, brash, and quite full of yourself. That would be my assessment at this point Kieran stated, feeling his nails dig into the outside of the foam ball.

Carmine leaned back. "Well, you don't beat around the bush."

Kieran frowned. "Bush?" he said looking confused for a moment. "Oh," he remarked, remembering it was a metaphor. "Metaphorical bush."

Carmine's brows crinkled but he looked up as Charles put down his headphones. "Alright, guys, light's off, you can go out now. Thanks for coming to do this. Helps a lot," he told them.

Kieran leaped to his feet, ready to dash out when he felt a hand encircle his bicep. He started, turning to stare at the offending hand, following it up to the smirking actor. Kieran froze in place, unsure what to do about the hand on his arm. It was all he could concentrate on; the stress ball in his hand was starting to burst at the seams from the pressure. Carmine made a face and let go of his arm, shoving his hands into his tight jean pockets quickly and looked away for a second before turning back.

"Hey, you wanna go for a coffee, doc?" he asked with a placid smile on his face. "I mean, I know you said you didn't date and all, but just coffee, right?"

. He never thought it would be something he had happen. Especially after he shut him down several times and insulted him. Then, Thomas came up to the door and grabbed Kieran's other arm and tugged him out, almost making him trip. Kieran grabbed onto Thomas's arm to steady himself, feeling his balance try to give way.

he ordered, sending a frown in the Carmine's direction.

Kieran, though, felt annoyed as he was ushered out the door, turning to glance back at the actor. Thomas didn't even let him answer. What if he wanted to go for coffee with him? Thomas assumed he wouldn't want to go with him. It wasn't like he'd ever shown interest in going out with someone before, but it would have been nice to make his own decision. This was beginning to get on his nerves, the way Mary did this all the time, first of all. Now Thomas was doing it. They were both assuming what he

After they were gone, Charles came out to see Carmine standing in the now empty waiting area, watching out the door.

"Man, the fuck dude, that boy is smokin'," Carmine muttered. "You sure that shit's legal, cuz man, he don't look no older than fuckin' sixteen..."

Charles giggled. "Nope, twenty-five. And he is the most stressed out person I've ever done an interview with."

Carmine looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Man, think about it. The boy has gone through like thirty years of school in like ten. Can you imagine how much of a childhood he didn't have? And he never got to be a teenager from what his file read. Pretty much straight into college and then to medical school, never stopping to do any normal things. Top of that he's got his thing, the autism stuff. I didn't go into the problems with his gross motor coordination..." Charles informed him, glancing over his notes.

"Gross motor? The fuck dude, speak English."

Charles sighed. "He didn't like walk until he was two, and still goes to therapy, it seems. But he was so nervous about bringing up his autism shit, I didn't even go there. I heard he was brutally honest, but man, he pegged you right on..." Charles shrugged, breaking into giggles again.

Carmine rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, he knew me for like fuckin' half an hour, most of which I wasn't talkin' to him." Carmine paused. "I thought he was going to go to coffee with me for a sec, but the other guy drug him off before he could say anything." Carmine stopped to think about it.  _If the kid was twenty-five, why was the other guy manhandling him like he was twelve?_ "You heading to Strawberry's tonight?"

Charles grinned. "Oh, you still cruising for a partner? I thought you and the little gal with the dark hair were gonna go for it."

Carmine shook his head. "Nah, she's collared already. 'Sides, I think I'm done with chicks for a while. But no matter, I'd rather have something more fresh..." He looked where the doctor had gone.

"Seriously? The boy is oblivious! I doubt he's ever jacked himself off, let alone let someone like you...well, do what you want to do!" Charles exclaimed with a grin and a shake of his head. "He's probably never heard the term analingus, let alone knows what it means."

Carmine grinned. "Ah well, you know me, always got my eye on the hard to get ones. You get your girl to agree to go down there? She finally gonna play our games?"

Charles smiled.

Carmine cocked an eyebrow. "Only you would go out and find a woman who isn't into the lifestyle and try to turn her into your own Domme. I still can't believe you. Man, I offered..."

Charles shook his head. "Nah, man, I want a woman. And you sure as hell don't look like one."

? I mean, if she gets into it, I mean."

"Ask him, he's coming with her tonight. He was reluctant until I told him I was the submissive one," Charles snorted.

Carmine smiled

"Loki?" Charles asked. "He'll be there, he's there every night, but I'm not sure if you'll get to Dom him again. Remember, he's a switch, he might be in a Domme mode. He's interesting. Most the time he's a dude, but then when he Dommes he turns into a chick, like voice, walk, everything. First time I've met a switch who switched roles and switched genders..." he frowned. "If I went for cock at all, I'd take her on..."

"Man, I don't care, if she's Domme tonight, I'll watch. Goddamn he's got a nice ass, and I ain't got to go down on it yet," he smirked. "Though, I'd rather go down on a cute doctor right now, fuck."

Charles shook his head. "Yeah, you'll never touch the doctor, so keep dreaming."

Carmine snickered. "I love a fuckin' challenge. I bet you dinner I can get him to go out on a date with me. He was gonna go before that old ass took him out..."

"Dinner?" Charles thought out loud. "Make your ma's cooking, and you got a deal. Work out the details after you lose. There is no way you'll even see him again, let alone get a date."

"Like hell, bastard," Carmine as they headed out together.

* * * * *

"Thomas," Kieran whined. "The experience was horrible! Please tell me I do not have to do another interview!"

Thomas rolled his eyes a bit but kept them on the road as he drove. "You did great! And the only other interviews I have scheduled is a private interview on camera and one with a magazine. After that, I don't have any others on the slate for now. Now what was so horrible?"

"He jumped off script!"

"Kieran, we've talked about this. You've got to get over wanting to control everything around you. Sometimes you just can't," Thomas sighed.

"Sometimes I am so tired of it," he explained, his head thumping against the cool window of the car. Thomas looked over at him, frowning. "I feel like I am wound up all the time, you know. It feels like I am going to just explode. I swear, I need another surgery to get my mind straight."

Thomas nodded, wondering what would help him. He couldn't have him losing it right now. They were in a delicate position. If he went off on one of his episodes, he would lose all the opportunities he had laid out over the next four months. Kieran was his shining star, after all.

Kieran was his proof of how successful a child with autism could become, provided the right therapy. ABA worked wonders for Kieran, so of course it would work for all the other kids out there. These days, with all the pushback against ABA, Thomas was finding it harder and harder to keep parents engaged with his services. As a founding member of the Channings School for Autism, and a current board member, he'd seen their enrollment drop drastically with these adults claiming they'd been harmed by ABA. Obviously, they were lying. Still, he'd already had to let go of two of his therapists because of all these people who claimed ABA was abusive. How ridiculous. He turned a child from useless to one of the best neurosurgeons in the world using it. Now, he just had to ensure Kieran didn't prove him wrong. Thomas had to decrease his anxiety level.

"What about a vacation, huh, Kieran? Get out of town or something?"

"No, I have to be at the hospital until the Edison girl is discharged. Her radiation therapy is going well, and she should be released after I clear her in the next week. You know I do not like going out of town at all." Kieran shook his head emphatically as he spoke. One of the frustrating habits Thomas had yet to break Kieran of was refusal to leave his home area. They'd have to work on that next. He was hoping to take Kieran to a conference in the next year or two.

"What about in town? Like the Shakespeare production this weekend at the new Highland theater?" Thomas asked, wondering where he was going with it. He knew he needed to get Kieran to relax.

"Too many people," Kieran stated and closed his eyes. It was getting close to late afternoon, and all he could think of was what he had to do at the hospital.

The rest of the ride was silent between them. When Thomas pulled into the parking lot, Kieran was out of the car as quickly as he could move. He ignored Thomas entirely as they went in the hospital. They rode up to the seventh to the locker room. Thomas sighed and waited, wanting to continue their conversation. He glanced up and saw Jae coming toward him. As usual, Jae smiled brightly in his cartoon character covered scrubs. Just as he got there, Kieran,. came out of the locker room in his scrubs and coat. He tripped on something and nearly ran into his father. 

"Oh, son, how did the radio interview go?" Jae , smiling at him from beside Thomas.

"Ask him," Kieran snarled as he ambled away, again tripping over nothing.

Thomas waited until Kieran was out of view. Jae was standing there watching where he had gone still. Thomas put a hand on the elder Sung's shoulder and spoke softly to him. "What do you think?"

"I'm worried about him," Jae muttered under his breath, turning slightly to face Thomas.

"Yeah, he's burning out fast. His tics are back, he's self-stimulating every chance he has, and his anxiety is shooting through the roof. He almost destroyed the stress ball I let him take into the interview. He practically at the host when he went off script." Thomas looked at Jae with a near glare. "We have to get this under control. The stims are going to have to stop. Period."

Jae paused. "Thomas, look, I know you are a professional, and you've worked with kids like Kieran for almost forty years now, but it seems like putting him into situations where his anxiety is triggered would be a bad idea."

Thomas asked, a concerned look crossing his gray brows.

Jae looked up at him for a few seconds. "I...I don't know, Thomas. You keep saying it, but you won't let him have any medications to help. Why can't..."

"No, we have to do this without meds. It just has to be, Jae. You know that. With his unique brain, do you really think it would be a good idea to expose him to unnecessary chemical alteration?" Thomas asked with a shrug. "I don't know what would happen."

There was a moment when Thomas thought Jae was going to continue but he just nodded and looked thoughtful. Thomas really needed him to drop the medication line. He had to keep things as they were. Kieran was a success story, and he needed to stay exactly this way. He was successful with only ABA therapy and no medications. It  _had_  to stay that way, at least until this annoying tide of anti-ABA people disappeared. His career, everything he'd built, and all his research and publications depended on it. The future of Channing's school also depended on Kieran being a good poster child for their successes.

"Maybe a girlfriend?" Jae offered softly, breaking Thomas out of his reverie.

Thomas sighed, knowing Jae worried about his son. He also thought finding him a partner was a terrible idea, but he might have to reconsider if it could help the situation. "Mary's been trying to get his attention forever, Jae. Are we even sure he likes girls? Or anyone? He could be asexual, you know." Asexual would be the best case in Thomas's mind.

Honestly, dating was the last thing Thomas wanted Kieran to do. Having another trusted person in his life would be difficult to compete with for Kieran's loyalty. Thomas already had to compete with the prissy little boy Kieran had made friends with as a child. An intimate partner would only cause problems. It would take Kieran's focus off his career, and that could become an issue if it lasted too long. If he became romantically involved with someone, he would either have to put a stop to it like he had earlier today, or he would have to control his partner as well. No, if he dated anyone, it would have to be Mary or someone else he could arrange for him so he'd stay in the right environment.

Jae thought for a moment. "I don't know, he's awkward around all genders. But he needs something to cling to at the end of the day. I don't like

* * * * *

In another part of the floor, Kieran was checking in with Janet. He knocked on the door once before he entered Janet's room. She was sitting up talking to Clair and Varick. Since they were around so much he remembered them now. Kieran smiled as best he could and grabbed the chart from the end of the bed.

"Are the headaches going away?" he asked and looked over at Janet. Her head still wrapped with white bandages, more out of prevention than necessity. With the sutures mostly healed over, the bandages at this point were there to keep her from touching the scabbing wounds.

She smiled. "Yeah, and they said I could go home next week! Thank you for that. I'm just amazed there's no sign of the tumor; there were three doctors who swore it was inoperable!"

Kieran nodded, eyes glued to the papers even though he already knew every detail. "It happens quite often, but I am glad I could help you."

After he checked the IV lines and looked over her last vitals in the chart, he put the chart down on the bed to remove the bandages to check the suture wounds. He finished checking the wounds, satisfied they were healing well, and replaced the bandages. He reached down for the chart, and felt her hand brush against his. He blinked dumbly at the hand, frowning. Unlike his reaction to the actor at the radio program, Kieran only felt slightly uncomfortable by being touched like this.

"Do you need something? I can get a nurse if you need something," he inquired and glanced up at her face, and noticed a blush spreading across it.

When she didn't say anything, he moved to the end of the bed to replace the chart. He bowed slightly at her and started to back out of the room. "Well, let me know if you have any questions, Mary will be around tonight!"

Kieran turned and left the room. He paused outside and flipped through the clipboard he carried. His mind was on several things at one time. In the room he had just left, Janet watched the door where the doctor had just left.

Clair patted her leg. "Hey, maybe he's just shy too, but he is awful cute! Take it slow and easy!"

Varick stood against the wall, watching after him, then glanced at the two women. He snorted, already contemplating the reactions he had just seen from the doctor. He was beginning to think he was on the right track when he thought of what he might like.

"You're one to talk, sis. You and Charles just hooked up a couple months ago, and you're already all over him and going ."

Now Clair blushed. "Well, he's really sweet, and he's a radio personality! Oh, now that I think about it, Janet's doctor did an interview with him today, and guess who else was on there? Deangelo!"

"Deangelo?" Varick asked, frowning, not keeping current on events.

"You'd like him, he's an actor, starring in Much Ado About Nothing this weekend," Clair smiled. "And, he's unattached, attractive, and bi."

Varick rolled his eyes. "Sis, really?"

The conversation shifted, but Varick lost track of what Janet and Clair were talking because he was watching the doctor through the window. Varick saw the dark-haired nurse walk up and grab his arm to turn him toward her. Then it seemed they were having a heated discussion because Kieran was obviously agitated. Varick watched as the doctor started drumming his fingers against his thigh. His drumming got harder and harder until the dark-haired nurse grabbed his hand. He shook her off. At this point, Varick got up and pushed the door open enough to hear the conversation. Clair and Janet grew quiet behind him.

"Kie, come on, you gotta calm it down and quit doing it, you're making the patients nervous," Mary said.

"Mary, you know well I cannot...I'm just... _aigoo_. I am going to the roof and rock, okay, I have to do something, and...just  _ssibal_...if you see Thomas send him up. I do not think I can deal with patients for the rest of today, it is too fucking much, okay? I feel like my goddamned head is going to explode, okay..." His fingers started thrumming against his chin and he rocked back on his heels.

"Okay, okay, I'll cover, go upstairs, and work it out, okay? Do what you have to do. Was it the interview?" she demanded.

He nodded vigorously. " _Ssibal_ ,  _ssibal_ , yes, fuck. He went off script and messed me up."

"Shhh, watch your mouth down here," she insisted, frowning at him.

He glared at her, and Varick saw he had bit down on his tongue. "You know I cannot fucking control it. I am going up."

Kieran turned on his heels and practically ran for the door. Varick watched him go and heard the exasperated sigh from the nurse. He slipped out of Janet's room, waving Clair off when she tried to ask him what he was doing. He followed the doctor, catching up when he got to the stairs. Varick realized it took him a bit to navigate them, obviously struggling with keeping his limbs in order. Varick was quiet as he continued up the stairs, and once Kieran reached the top, Varick heard the key in the roof access. He came up to the top just as the door swung wide and the doctor slipped out.

Varick grinned, catching it, and slipping out before the self-locking door closed behind him. He came out and move around the side of the small alcove that housed the stairs. The area looked slightly damp, but as he glanced to the sky, the clouds had become sparse. The chill remained though. He peered around the alcove wall and saw a concrete divider in the center of the roof. Kieran was leaning back against the divider wall. He started rocking his body back and forth, hands interlocked over his head. Varick saw Kieran's face was almost blissful at the action. Then the doctor wrapped his arms tightly around himself and continued the motion. Varick moved to hide around the side when he heard the door opening again and watched as another doctor came out.

"Kieran, you've got to get yourself under control. I can't have you snapping at patients, you know that," he stared. "You're ticking and stimming too much again. What's got you worked up?"

Kieran looked up at his gray-haired mentor and shook his head. " _Ssibal_ , Thomas. I do not know. The interview got me going, I guess. Whatever, my nerves are shot now."

"You're burning yourself out, that's what," the older doctor responded.

Kieran swallowed. "Get me another surgery, I do not care what, give me an appendectomy or a colectomy, just let me into a surgery so I can think."

"Kieran, you can't do a surgery like you are now. I've told you before. No way will I let you do surgery if you're stimming like this. How can I be sure you won't start drumming in surgery?"

"I will not, you know it! Surgery is the only place I am normal!" Kieran nearly yelled at him. He was obviously getting frustrated.

Varick narrowed his eyes as he watched as the older doctor, Thomas apparently, let out a long sigh, and spoke a phrase that sounded like a command. "Kieran. Stop. Sit. Think."

Kieran dropped to sit down, crossing his legs. He then closed his eyes and appeared to be focusing. To Varick, it looked like an automatic response to the command Thomas had given him. He thought it was interesting, but there was something about the older doctor bothering him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it though. He definitely didn't trust this older doctor. Something was just off about him.

"Okay. Better. Not great, but better." Kieran opened his eyes and let out a sigh.

"So now, can we discuss this? Stand up here, and we can talk." Thomas placed his hands on his hips.

Kieran obstinately stared at the ground in front of him and refused to stand up, though. "I'm fine here."

With a long-suffering sigh, Thomas knelt beside him. "Now, you know if you start on medications you can't do surgery, so we have to get through this. You need a break, you know. How long has it been since you've done anything fun? You could take Mary on a nice date...quiet restaurant."

Kieran looked up and glared at him. "No way, she is like...like my sister."

Thomas nodded. "How about the girl who has been hanging out with your patient? She seems to like you enough."

He again shook his head. "Eh, no. I just...I do not like her like that."

"What about the guy earlier that tried to ask you to coffee? He seemed nice enough." Varick heard a tone to his voice, almost as though he was annoyed at asking the question.

Kieran shook his head, a dusting of pink coloring his cheeks. "Too many people, though he was kind of nice."

Thomas grinned even wider. "Okay, well, what about taking out one of your nurses, like Hinto, he's always thought you were cute, talks about you all the time..."

Kieran looked at him and frowned. "He is so...I don't know. He wears make up, and those glittery things. Besides I think Dr. Santo and he are already dating."

Thomas appeared quite pleased with himself. "Hey, didn't you say you talked to the one guy in the cafeteria?"

To Varick's amusement, Kieran's face became slightly pink again. "Ah, yes, he was just being nice though."

"Ha, I have you figured out! You've got a crush on him," Thomas commented with a grin. "I saw him down at your patient's room, why not go talk to him?"

Kieran looked up, seemingly abhorred at the thought. "I cannot do that, Thomas! I...I cannot even...oh gods," he muttered, burying his head in his hands. " _Aigoo_...  _ssibal_ ," he moaned and looked up at him. "Do not tell my father, okay, I don't know if he..."

"Kieran, don't tell him what? You like guys instead of girls? Do you really think he's going to care?" Thomas asked, still kneeling beside him. "After everything, you know he loves you for you, not what's up here." He pointed to his head.

"I guess. I just...I never thought about it until I ran into the guy with the multi-colored hair...and he is so..." Kieran stopped. "He's so big and tall, Thomas. He should be intimidating, should he not? Instead he feels safe to be around."

"Come on, are you okay or do you need to go home?" Thomas questioned. Varick caught the tone of his voice again, and it wasn't kind. This Thomas sounded more irritated than anything all of a sudden. Had the concern been an act a second ago? It was almost as though he'd been humoring the doctor and hit his limit for dealing with it.

"Do the hold again, okay? The really, really, really tight one." Kieran's voice was almost childlike in the asking, Varick noted.

"You know I don't like that one," Thomas frowned. "I'm afraid you'll pass out one of these days. You need to get rid of these needs altogether, and having me feed into them isn't helping."

"Please, Thomas, you are the only one strong enough to do it and I need it right now, or I cannot go back in there." Kieran stood and turned his back to the other man.

Varick continued to watch as Kieran crossed his arms over his chest, placing his hands on his shoulders. Thomas then wrapped his arms around Kieran from behind, placing his arms over Kieran's and began to squeeze him in the grip. Kieran's eyes fluttered and he sighed out his breath. It was obvious the pressure on his chest was keeping him from breathing in. For a moment, Varick wondered if he should intervene because he thought the doctor was going to pass out. Then Thomas let go, sending the young doctor staggering forward a bit, panting. Kieran shook his hands out and straightened up.

"Okay, I have to apologize to Mary...I kind of went off on the cussing tick on her. She hates it when I do, but she did not want me drumming," he explained, shrugging at the older doctor.

"She'll forgive you, she always does. You know she's right, though. The drumming needs to stop. Normal people don't do that sort of thing, Kieran."

* * * * *

Carmine stared at the full-length mirror and adjusted his clothes. He usually wore the same type of thing when he went to the club with Charles. Generally, he wore leather looking pants or dark jeans, boots, and a vest. Sometimes, like tonight, he wore a t-shirt under it. He was nervous, of course, because he was hoping Loki would be available. Once he was ready, he headed down from his small room and made his way through the kitchen where his mom was sitting at the dinner table.

" _Cucciolo_ , will you be out late tonight?" his mom asked. She was looking through a home and garden magazine when he came down.

"Yeah, Ma," he said as he leaned over and kissed her on the temple. "I'll eat when I get back, promise."

"Good, good, there's gnocchi in the fridge, warm it up and eat proper!" she exclaimed as Carmine opened the back door.

"Alright, alright, Ma, I will. Call me if you need something before I get back."

"I'll be fine,  _Cucciolo._ Have fun! Be careful!" she said as she tucked a gray strand of hair behind her ear.

He went to his car, a small Chevy SUV. He would have preferred a car, but his mom couldn't get into cars since they were too low to the ground. He had to take her to the doctor and the store every week.

He headed over toward the old brewery where the club was. He'd never imagined a brewery could be turned into a dungeon. After he pulled into a parking spot near the entrance, he got out of the SUV and saw Charles already waiting near the door. The building itself looked plain from the exterior. The only real indication there was a club inside was the sign over the door with the words "Strawberry's Black." On the name, the apostrophe looked like a strawberry dripping chocolate. It lit up, but it wasn't one of those signs that caused the entire area to glow for miles. He thought it was rather tasteful.

"Yo," Charles yelled as Carmine came up to him and put an arm around him.

"So, if you're going to bring out Clair tomorrow, why did you want to come tonight, too?" he asked. "I mean, you aren't gonna have someone flog you when you're starting with her training with a Domme tomorrow night..."

Charles shrugged as they got in line to get into the main entrance. The entrance was already packed as people lined up outside the door. After a short wait, they stopped at the first checkpoint. Here, the folks going downstairs got wristbands, and those who were here for the music got their hand stamped after paying the cover charge. Carmine and Charles had membership cards for the lower levels, so they both flashed them and were waved on after they had the wristbands wrapped on them.

After showing their member cards, they both got their wristbands for the bottom floors. They checked their coats at the first coat check, and then walked through the first-floor bar. They came up and greeted the bouncer on the door leading to the stairs going down.

Carmine gave him a fist bump and a grin. "Yo, Jerome, man, how's it hangin'?" Carmine asked.

"Not bad, Dragon, you here to just hang or gonna play?" the large man asked. Jerome was someone Carmine had known even before he started coming to the club. He was one of the few black folks who didn't rag on him for being biracial. He was also a massive man at over six foot nine. Carmine didn't know how much he weighed, but the man could have been a Mark Henry lookalike if he wanted.

"Was looking to play with Loki, but I don't see him at the bar." He glanced behind them.

Jerome shook his head. "Nah, he went down a bit ago with Wycked. She's doing a pegging demo on him tonight," he shrugged.

Carmine groaned as he went down the stairs behind Charles. "Fuck, I'm so fucking horny..." he muttered. "Guess I'll watch though. She's a damn fine Domme to watch."

"Want to go grab a couple sodas?" Charles asked. "I'll get a table up by the stage so you can ogle your boy's ass."

Carmine nodded to Charles and headed over to the bar. He glanced beside him at a guy who was as much of a cute little thing as the doctor he'd seen. He smirked and spoke up before he could stop himself.

"Sugar, nice ass," Carmine commented and winked at him.

The other man, a short dark-haired guy wearing a little more than a pair of leather boy shorts and a collar, didn't respond. Carmine noticed the intricate body tattoo of a vine decorating his back and leg, and the orange and red lily on his shoulder. He hummed a bit in appreciation, both of the tattoos and his svelte body.

The bartender shook his head and put down Carmine's usual drinks. "Dude, don't even try to chat that one up."

Carmine picked up the two colas. "Man, I can admire, wasn't gonna touch; he's collared," Carmine smirked at him and then and headed back to Charles.

He had picked a table toward the front. He took up a seat facing the stage with a huff. He had wanted to play with Loki tonight. He supposed he'd have to watch him instead. Charles was standing to the side of the table talking to someone else, but Carmine wasn't familiar with them.

"What's up? You aren't gonna go grab you a sub to play with?" Charles asked as he sat back down next to him in the small table.

Carmine shook his head. "Nah, I'm not wanting to do anything if it isn't with him."

Charles stared at him for a long time. "The fuck? Weren't you just getting a hard on when you were checking out that little doctor's ass?"

"That's different," he muttered. "I mean, yeah, but...I can't explain it. Maybe I like two people."

Charles was surprised. "Man, we've known each other since we were kids, and I've never seen you turn down playing when we're here."

 

Standing up on the stage, to Carmine, he looked like some pale angel or something. His platinum hair was pulled back from his face and he wore one of the strap harnesses over his chest. Carmine licked his lips as he could see his nipple piercings glinting in the dim light. He was too far away to see the details on his tattoos, but the harness covered the one on his sternum anyway. He could see the one around his belly button, and noticed he didn't have his belly button ring tonight. He was wearing a short, flared skirt that came down to his mid-thigh. He was barefoot otherwise and he'd rock back on the balls of his feet now and then.

While he was waiting for everyone to settle down, he was watching the crowd. He crossed his arms over his chest and blinked those entrancing eyes. Carmine loved his eyes because he'd never met someone with one green and one blue before, and he'd definitely never met anyone with white eyelashes and eyebrows before. Carmine thought his looks were exotic and unique, and that kept his attention like nothing else.

Loki glanced around and over toward him and smiled. He winked his blue eye at him and then looked back as Wycked came up beside him.

He thought she was a nice looking Domme. She wore a leather bra top with a leather garter belt connected to a pair of dark stockings. She had what Carmine knew to be a strap on harness. Her long blonde hair up and in a long braid down her back. They'd pulled up a table beside the spanking bench set up on the stage.

"Pegging demo..." Carmine sighed. "I'd rather be pegging him with my dick than watching her peg him with a fake cock."

Charles nodded. "Shut up, she's fucking hot, I like watching her work..."

"I wanna watch him take my cock again," Carmine muttered as his eyes scanned the pale skinned person on the stage. "She's going to stuff him; you have any idea how much he can take?"

"Try not to watch the dudes, Carmine," Charles muttered.

Carmine sighed, and shrugged. "You're missing out, that's all I gotta say."

Wycked looked around and saw most people were sitting. "We're going to start now. If you don't already know us, I'm Wycked, and my partner is Loki. If this is your first demo, I usually use him for as my demo bottom. This is a pegging demonstration and I'll be giving information as we go along. I'd appreciate it if any questions are held until we're finished," she stated and nodded to Loki. "I'll take him backstage and do his aftercare before I come back for questions." She turned to Loki and nodded for him to talk.

"Alright," Loki blurted while he glanced around. "Remember, play nice. You all better know how to make sure everyone stays safe and healthy, so be sure if you're receiving, you should be cleaned up nice and neat. You might consider stretching beforehand, which I have already taken care of."

Wycked rolled her eyes and grasped Loki by the back of the neck. "Come on," she demanded and spun him around then pushed him down over the bench. He gave a soft oof when he flopped down. He grunted as he pulled his knees up to the rails.

"Now, this boy can take a big cock, which means for the sake of this demo, I'm using a larger one. You have to be careful with the sub to know what size they can comfortably take. Also, keep in mind, Loki's a painslut, so he likes things a bit rougher than some."

She leaned over, grabbing the back of his pony tail and pulling him back toward her. "Aren't you a painslut, Loki?" Loki snorted but refused to answer, so she shoved his head forward again. She swatted him across the ass hard enough that the pop could be heard in the audience. "Well, I was going to be nice to you, but now I think I'll make you suffer, brat," she commented in a voice dripping with honey as she turned toward the table where an assortment of equipment was laid out.

She picked up and showed the audience several strap-on compatible dildos, some small, some large, and some of them were realistic. Then she picked up a larger one that was very much not realistic. It had an almost translucent look in speckles of pinks with swirling purples, blues, and black. It had ridges giving it the vague shape of a bird, with the end looking like the head of the bird tucked beak against the body.

"This is a product I highly recommend. Firebird by Night is the model name, by Phoenix Toy Nest, custom made for this slut here. High quality silicone material, and comes in various sizes. I'm not using a condom on it, because this one belongs to this brat. Condoms are good for cleanup, but if you know Loki, he hates them with a passion. For him, use of a condom is a hard limit. On cheap dildos, you are best off using condoms. Not everything is phthalate free, and not everything claiming to be 'body safe' actually is." She waved the dildo about in front of her. "This beast, well, you get what you pay for. Want something good, drop at least a hundred."

She attached the dildo to the strap-on, showing how it fit into place inside the ring. "Make certain you are using the correct sized ring for the cock you're putting on. If the ring is too small for the toy, the toy is hard to remove and there's a possibility of damage to the toy, but it's definitely a pain in the ass to deal with it. If the ring is too big for your toy, the toy might shift or fall out. Not something you want to happen in the middle of a scene.

"Now, as I said, Loki's a painslut, so he doesn't need a lot of extensive prep, but it is still required to avoid injury."

She grabbed a bottle of lube from the table as she flipped the skirt over Loki's back to expose his ass. "I'm using thicker, water-based lube. Something like this is good for anal play as well as toy play. Not all lubes are created equal. Sex lubes and toy lubes are a lot different. Remember water-based is necessary for silicone toys. The last thing you want is to buy a toy like this, running into hundreds of dollars, and have it completely ruined by putting the wrong lube on it. Especially if happens to be a favorite shape."

She applied a generous glop of the lube to her fingers and slid two of her slim digits into him. He flinched at the touch and ground back on her. "Stop it," she growled out and smacked him with her free hand while continuing to work on loosening him for a few moments. "No matter what, if you are doing anything with anal play, massage the rectum thoroughly. Make sure you can feel the muscles loosening around your fingers until you can slide in and out with ease. You should reach a point with almost no resistance. The bigger the toy, the more fingers you should insert, and the longer it should take. Remember, make sure the sub is ready for whatever size you're using," she instructed.

She moved into position behind him and lubed the dildo. She pressed up against him enough that the tip of the dildo was just against his entrance. "Hmm, you want something?"

Carmine's eyes didn't move as he intently watched the scene play out. Loki made a noise in his throat somewhere between a growl and a sigh. "Come on, tell me what you want," Wycked sang as she gently pressed the tip into him, just enough to inch past the ring of muscles. He groaned then gasped as she pulled back again. "What is it? You want me to do something?" she asked, sliding forward just barely into him and rolled her hips a bit.

"Fuck..." Loki finally growled. "Fuck me with it..."

"Hmm?" she demanded and pressed forward about an inch before pulling back. "You said what?"

Loki nearly choked as he tried to make the words. "Hnng...fuck me, please, Miss Wycked... Please..."

"Yes, good boy," she muttered as she pressed deeper into him by a couple inches before pulling back out completely.

She glanced at the audience. "Depending on the experience of the sub, you will have to be aware of the speed at which you penetrate. Slow is the safest bet, mostly because we don't want to cause the wrong sort of pain. Remember, there is a very real danger of causing tearing and other injuries. Always, lots of lube, lots of preparation, and slow insertion. Keep in mind, unlike a real cock, you do not have feeling through the strap-on."

She slowly slid back into him, causing him to shudder as she pushed deeper, almost pushing half of the dildo in now. "If you feel resistance, stop. Do not force insertion if the sub indicates pain or they aren't able to handle more depth. You must be aware of this. As you move from initial insertion and into the actual fucking, then you still need to keep the sub's position in mind. Stay centered," she instructed as she began a slow and steady pace, setting Loki's voice to a constant low long drawn out moan. "Now, be aware of the location of the prostate," she reminded the crowd as she moved in a fashion that made Loki arch and yelp. "This keeps the sub in a state of constant stimulation, assuming the sub has a prostate. I am focusing on anal pegging, vaginal pegging has some other intricacies. If your sub is equipped with a vagina, angle the dildo toward the vagina and rub against the barrier between the anal cavity and the vaginal cavity. Keep in mind, if your sub has a clitoris, the clitoris is more than just the nub above the urethra; it is an internal organ that expands around the vaginal opening. Massaging this area while anally pegging can often cause an intense pleasure."

Wycked began to thrust deeper into him and setting a faster pace. After a while of increasing her speed and depth, she started to feel his body begin to tense where her hand laid on his back.

"What, boy, you want to cum?" she teased, continuing to stroke his back and hips as she stilled inside him.

Loki panted for a long few minutes. "Please...I'm going to...go..."

"Don't you fucking dare cum without me telling you," she snarled out and began a shallow series of thrusts just barely nudging into his prostate until he was nearly nonsensical. "So, what is it? Do you need something, boy? Hmm?"

"P-please...please Miss, I need to...need to..." he finally stuttered out after a few minutes panting.

"Need to what? I'm sorry, I can't understand you if you keep stuttering like that. Speak clearly, boy," she snarled again, teasing him lightly with the tip of the toy. She slid backward until she was barely pressed into him and waited.

"Miss, please, let me cum, I need to...please..." he practically sobbed out and Wycked smirked.

Wycked backed out from him before slamming all the way in at once. Loki nearly yelped and his hands gripped the bench hard enough to whiten his knuckles. More than one audience member seemed a bit concerned as she set about causing the bench to slide from a couple of the thrusts. After a few minutes, she started to slow, and then leaned over, reaching one hand under to stroke his cock and slipped the other down to the top of his ass to teasingly press against the muscles there. By the amount he was dripping, she knew he was at the very edge of his restraint. It was impressive he'd lasted this long considering she hadn't put a cockring on him

"Now, cum, show them how much you love being fucked like this..."

Loki didn't last long after she spoke to him in the domineering tone, his body tensing and fingers digging into the bench. He let out a throaty moan as he went over the edge. Wycked thrust through his orgasm until his body stopped twitching. She pulled out of him and unstrapped the harness, dropping it into the plastic lined basket beside her. She then reached for a towel on the table she had all her tools on. After cleaning him of fluids and lube she rested her hands on the base of his spine gently.

"Don't forget to check them over for any possible injury before going on with their preferred aftercare. Which I need to take care of right now, so thanks for watching. I'll be back when I'm finished to take any questions," she explained as she helped Loki up from the bench, and took him behind the curtain to the backstage.

The audience had started to disperse, people going about their own fun. At the table where Carmine and Charles sat, Carmine sighed and reached down and to adjust himself. "Fuck..." he grumbled.

"If you're needy, go find..."

"I'm not gonna do it," Carmine sighed.

Charles looked at him for a long time. "You seriously got a thing for Loki, huh? I never woulda thought."

Carmine looked at his oldest friend. "Look, I know I've been messing around for years now, and I know I've bounced between subs and stuff. But you know I don't want to."

Charles nodded. "Yeah, I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed someone when Denice dumped you. I wish I could have been there to tell the bitch off."

Carmine nodded. He didn't doubt Charles would have said something to her. He hadn't even told him the whole story. Charles didn't know they'd been engaged, and she was the cause of some of his anxiety when it came to approaching new partners. He couldn't help the fact he'd gone into a depression or having to go into the hospital to get his medications adjusted again. She'd told him she couldn't have a Dom, or a husband, who couldn't control his own mental state. She'd broken it off the day he was released from the hospital. He'd never been happier to have not moved in with her.

He looked at Charles and smiled, still not ready to tell him everything. Carmine shrugged. "Eh, you were off getting shot at in a desert, you know. I wanted to go in with you, but they wouldn't let me," he shrugged as he reached up and rubbed the back of his head.

"Man, I'm glad you couldn't. You know how much damage control I'd have to do with your horny ass in an army base?" he grumbled with a smirk.

Carmine winked at him. "You say you only dig chicks. But I hear tales about your battle buddies..."

Charles reached over and smacked Carmine on the back of the head. "Fuck you, bastard. Ain't like that," he smirked. "You just like to shove your slut dick in anything that has a hole. You'd fuck a goddamned couch if you thought it'd get you off."

"Depends on if it was a hot couch," Carmine smiled and downed the rest of his cola. "You think he'll come back out?"

Charles shook his head. "You know he usually only scenes once a night. And it looked pretty intense."

Carmine nodded. "Ah, well, I'll go jerk off when I get home, then I'll come back tomorrow for him. Maybe if I get here early enough I can play with him..."

"He works tomorrow, though, so don't count on it. He sometimes doesn't scene after he's bartended all afternoon," Charles informed him.

Carmine stood up and glanced down at Charles before he gave him a sad smile. "I'm gonna head home, catch you tomorrow," he said solemnly as he left the club.

He drove home in silence, finding it quiet once he got there. He paused inside the door and put a hand against the frame. He was going to need his trazadone tonight because he was so wound up. Damn did he wish he still had his old contacts for weed right now.

_Carmine, Carmine, what the fuck are you doing? Getting attached to someone else that can dump your stupid ass when they find out what a moron you are?_

He closed his eyes for a moment then went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, rummaging for a second. Snatching a container of gnocchi, he headed up the dark stairs to his room. His mom slept on the first floor in what would have been the living room. He took the single bedroom upstairs. He sat down on the bed cross legged and grabbed the TV remote to find something, anything as he popped cold gnocchi in his mouth without much thought.  _Definitely needing the sleeping pills tonight_ , he thought as he put the empty container on the floor.


	4. The Bartender and the Club

* * *

 

Devan Sullivan stood in front of the mirror and adjusted the pale green tie. The large, empty bathroom echoed with every move he made. The tiles were shiny and kept spotless, and their pastel yellow color caused no end of irritation to the man who stood within their confines. Boxed in, and closed off, was the best way to describe how this large, open bathroom made him feel. It was in complete opposition to the larger than necessary room, of course. His feelings of being trapped had nothing to do with the white porcelain and yellow tiles here. No, this intense feeling of being stuck and unable to escape had everything to do with his name.

Right now, he was Sully. He was the person he hated more than anyone else in the entire world. This was the person he tried to have beaten out of him when he donned the name Loki and bowed his head. This was the person the female Loki ascended above and took full control away from. This was the part Devan Sullivan wanted scrubbed from his memory completely. Sully was the part of himself he would never be able to accept again. Sully had done things he would never atone for. Sully had lost his soul inside his own personal hell. Sully was the one who had become a part of organized crime at sixteen. Sully was a disgrace. Devan still used the name so he didn’t dirty the name Devan with the work he did for Callaghan.

At the age of twenty-six, Devan had no real idea who he was.

The large bathroom seemed even bigger when he was heading in to a meeting like this. He was not looking forward to what Rian Callaghan had planned for today. He’d started out the day feeling well. Then he’d rolled out of his bed to a text message saying he was needed in the office. Devan never went to see Callaghan in anything less than a full suit. He had to fake being nice to the old bastard, which was bad enough, but if he showed up in less than professional looking clothes, he was in for it. He grumbled under his breath for a moment before pulled back his fine, blonde hair with a band at the base of his neck. He couldn't show up looking too feminine, otherwise Callaghan might do something extreme as punishment. Callaghan was old school Irish Catholic, and so Devan had to pretend to fit into his idea of what one of his men should be.

He stared at himself and hated what he saw when he was like this. His “professional” self was so far away from who he really was it caused him near physical pain. He didn’t know who he was when he was like this. Not at all. He pulled down on the jacket’s arms and adjusted the cuffs. His real boss, Liam O'Brien, had his suits tailored for him. His size was unusual, with his shoulders being narrower than most men his height. He stood five feet nine, but he was incredibly thin and had a small frame. This was why he had to ensure he looked as “manly” as possible for Callaghan. Callaghan didn't stand for having “fags” in his ranks, considering them an “affront to God”. Though, Devan wasn't the only one who had to fake it; there were several others. Devan hated having to hide who he was, even if it was to ensure his own safety.

The phone chirped beside the mirror to let him know he needed to get to Callaghan's office in a few moments. He hated these meetings with his “boss”. He just had to kept in mind he was working the bar tonight, and he’d get some sorely needed relief. With today being Saturday, he could depend on there being a Dom/me there who could give him what he wanted. Last night had been fun, but it had not been enough; he didn't have marks left behind. He leaned forward and wiped a bit of eyeliner he’d missed in the shower. When they said waterproof, they weren’t kidding. He blinked his odd eyes. He closed the blue one and imagined he was just green eyed for a moment, then closed the green one. He wasn’t sure if he liked the blue or the green better. Didn’t matter, wasn’t like he could change it. He could wear contacts, but he didn’t like to. Again, he hated to pretend he was something he wasn't. Even if he did spend his life almost always doing that very thing. He turned and pulled at the bottom of the dark blue jacket and stepped out of the bathroom into the main hallway of the mansion.

Pausing at the base of the main staircase, Devan noted the two door guards by the entrance. He turned to look up at the office he was heading to above. The staircase was one of those he thought they called bifucated or something. There was a wide base and it went up about halfway before it split into right and left stairs going up to the landing above. Devan jogged up the middle and headed to the right-hand stair as always. He turned to go across the landing to the office directly in the middle. It sounded pretentious to call it a mansion, but it was a literal mansion. He passed the two other doors belonging to Callaghan's right and left-hand man.

As he walked past Redmond's office, the man himself stepped out. Devan almost stumbled, because he tended to take up more space than necessary. Devan glared at him as he passed. He really, really disliked Redmond. Devan had good cause for this, though, Redmond had turned on O’Brien, and ended up causing more than one death in O’Brien’s ranks.

He knocked lightly and heard the muffled “enter” from the other side. Redmond was following him which set Devan on edge more than a little. He ignored the bastard and gave Rian Callaghan a curt nod as he entered the room. Callaghan was bent over a bit, writing something in a notebook. As usual, he wore a dark gray suit and a red tie. His hair had almost completely gone from gray to white these days, a complete change from his younger days of dark red. Devan couldn’t help the surge of bile rising in his throat at the sight of the man he had to work for.

Callaghan looked up and locked his grey eyes on Devan. “Ah, Sully, m’boy, come, sit down. We were just about to get started,” he stated and gestured to a semi-circle of seats in front his desk. There were three others already seated, leaving an empty seat for him. He nodded and sat down. He crossed his legs and glanced over to see a man he was unfamiliar with in a pinstriped suit standing by those seated.

“So, first I’ll hear you out, Mr. Jones, was it?” Callaghan demanded, turning to look at the pinstriped suit wearing man.

“Yes, Mr. Callaghan. I represent an interested party in a building you own in…” he started.

Callaghan narrowed his eyes at him. “No.”

The man blinked large, dark eyes and looked around at the others. “Pardon me?”

Callaghan shook his head. “No, we’re not divesting of any companies or properties. You may go.”

“Sir, you didn’t hear the offer, it is quite lucrative…” he tried as Redmond came over to escort him out.

“Tell Mr. DawnStar I still have no interest in his overtures,” he informed the other man and Devan shook his head. Rian didn’t like to be approached for things like that. Idiot, he thought to himself. He wished he'd known DawnStar was sending someone over about it. Devan could have let his dad know to tell DawnStar not to waste a trip. His dad worked as a lawyer for the newest business in St. Louis, DawnStar Industries.

Callaghan turned to Devan. “Now, Sully, I’ve got a run for you today,” he smiled.

“Sure boss, whatcha got for me?” he said, attempting to remain neutral.

“Redmond, see if the package is ready?” Callaghan called and the huge redheaded man left for a moment before coming back with a two-foot cube shaped box. He sat it down in front of Devan on the large desk with a thump. “Take this to my dear friend Liam. And don’t open it.”

Devan nodded. “Sure thing, boss. Any message other than the package?” he requested.

Callaghan smiled and Devan knew this was going to be bad. He was far too pleased with himself. Devan swallowed hard enough to for it to be more of a gulp as Callaghan responded.

“No, the package speaks for itself.”

Devan nodded at Callaghan, and picked up the box as he stood. He turned and headed out of the room with the it. Whatever was in the box kept rolling about and had significant weight. He had a very good idea of what it might be. This was what he hated the most about doing this job, but he knew if it wasn’t for him doing it, more people could end up dead. As a liaison between two powerful Irish mob bosses, Devan did what he could. Sometimes it wasn't enough.

The walk from the office to his car was a blur considering where his thoughts were. He popped open the trunk of his light blue car and sat the box on the lip. He reached over and moved the duffel bag as far as he could to the side. He sat the box down on a tarp he used to cover the bottom of his trunk. He really didn’t want anything on his go-bag if the box leaked. He slammed the trunk lid down and walked around to the front of the car glad it hadn’t decided to rain again today.

“Sully,” came a deep voice behind him.

Turning his head, Devan spotted one of his least favorite people in Callaghan’s compound. A taller man, at least six and a half foot, with a dark mop of shaggy, deep reddish brown hair came sauntering over to him. Devan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at him. _Again_? He was going to end up kicking this guy’s nuts off if he kept this up. It didn't help Devan had heard the things he had done with Callaghan's discarded treasures during body disposals. It seemed Jake didn’t care if his pleasures came from flesh living or not.

“Can I help you, Jake?” he inquired, turning around and leaning back against the door of his car.

“Sure, what you doin’ today?” he asked as he got closer to him.

“Working, Callaghan is sending me on a delivery to O’Brien,” he watched as the other man leaned against Devan's car.

Jake smirked. “Want some company?”

Devan shook his head. “No. Remember, the reason I do this is so none of the Callaghans are sent into O’Brien grounds? Keeps the death toll down on both sides.”

“Well, you know, you could drop me off at the whorehouse we got over there,” he shrugged. “I could do with a woman to fuck while I wait for you to get done with O’Brien.”

Devan hated the fact Liam didn’t stop the prostitution and drug running on the other side of the river in the O’Brien's territory. Liam refused to run guns, drugs, or sex workers, so he really couldn’t step in when Callaghan ran both sides of the river regarding those things. Devan had an idea Liam was hoping Callaghan would trip up and get caught over there. Otherwise their territory border was the Mississippi River.

“That’s okay, I’ll be good,” he grunted as he turned to get into the car.

Just as Devan reached for the door handle, Jake reached out and grabbed his wrist, yanking it away. “You know, I noticed this,” he whispered as he pushed Devan’s sleeve up a bit and traced his finger over the subtle discoloration on his wrist and forearm. “They some sort of tattoo?”

Devan narrowed his eyes at him. “They’re black light ink,” he muttered and yanked his arm away from him. “And none of your business.”

“I’d like to make them my business,” he commented and moved to cage him against the side of the car. Devan slipped under his arm and avoided being pinned in place.

“Well, Jake, I don’t want to make it your business. You know I don’t fuck with anyone in either compound. Especially not right under Callaghan’s nose. You realize he’d have both our heads if he had any idea we swung both ways. You take a risk even coming up to me like this,” he insisted and crossed his arms over his thin chest. It was times like this Devan wished he didn’t weight a hundred thirty pounds soaking wet. Assholes like this constantly thought he was an easy target.

Jake ran a hand over his hair and looked away from Devan. “Well, that’s too bad. I heard you are quite the-”

“Jake!” came a call from the door to the house. “The fuck are you doing? Got a fucking job!” yelled his partner Davis.

“Ah, duty calls, but I’ll see you around,” he waved and wandered back toward the house.

Devan felt his jaw tighten as he finally got in the car. He hated the fucking bastard. Not as much as he hated Callaghan or Redmond, of course. Still, he was fucking entitled as shit and thought he had a right to put his hands on anyone he wanted. Devan halfway hoped he would try something one day. He’d enjoy grinding his foot into the honorless bastard’s nuts until he screamed for mercy. Devan could make him scream for mercy. And not give it to him. He shook away the violent image and sighed.

Devan pulled out of the compound and drove for almost hour until pulled up to the gate of the O’Brien grounds just outside St. Charles. It was a large piece of property, but close enough to the highways to make accessing it easy. He punched in the gate code and drove up to the cul-de-sac.

Once he'd parked in the side lot, he got out and opened the trunk to retrieve the box. He picked it up and much to his annoyance found it damp on the bottom. He hoped it didn’t leak through before he got it into the house. Devan wasn't squeamish, but the thought of getting congealed blood on his hands was rather unpleasant. He was pretty damn sure what was in the fucking thing now. He swallowed hard and headed in past the security guys and up to O’Brien’s office on the second floor.

Unlike Callaghan’s mansion house, Liam’s base was in an old two story Victorian house which had been falling down when Liam had purchased it. The outside was painted blue with white shutters, and other than sitting in an out of the way area, there was nothing unusual about the location. Of course, it was all sitting on a large piece of land outside St. Peters, MO. Surrounded by trees, and virtually undetectable unless someone knew what to look for, the compound had never felt like a prison to Devan like Callaghan’s compound. This house always felt like a second home to him.

Devan took the simple switchback stairs up to the office. Just past the bathroom, at the end of the single hallway.  He knocked and received the expected call to enter. He went in and saw Liam O’Brien sitting and chatting with his right-hand man, Flannán Kearney. Flannán was a tall, thin man with the look of a real bookworm. No matter what happened Flannán always looked calm, his steely blue eyes alert behind those heavy plastic-framed glasses he wore. Devan always admired that aspect about Liam’s second. As always, he was dressed in a three-piece suit. Devan didn’t think he had ever seen the man in anything less. Now, Flannán was in his mid-fifties, and his once thick red hair had been reduced to a bare ring neatly kept around the back of his head. Devan knew the man had been a redhead from the old photos of their younger days Liam kept around the office.

Liam sat at the large oak table, and around him, the office walls were covered in bookshelves filled with tomes after tomes. Like the old books behind him, Liam O’Brien looked old and wizened. His once dark strawberry blond hair had gone white, and his face was covered with an equally white full beard. Given the chance, the old Irishman often donned a red suit at Christmas for the kids in the Family. He needed the padding for it, but as the years passed, his need for the extra padding was lessening. His eyes were as lively as they had been when he was young, their clear blue color never seeming to dull.

“Boss…” Devan muttered and O’Brien looked up. O’Brien sighed and a look of nearly heartbreaking sadness crossed his face.

“Damn him. Who this time?” he muttered and got up to take the box from Devan. “I swear to God I regret not killing that man a long time ago,” he said as he set it down on a small table. He turned his back to Devan as he unsealed the tape on the top. He opened the flaps on the cardboard box and looked inside.

O’Brien shook his head. “Flannán, go let Missy know we found out where her man disappeared to. Give her my condolences, and let her know we’ll take care of her and the kids. Set them up in one of the rental properties in St. Peters.”

“Who was he?” Devan wondered with a long exhale of breath.

O’Brien shook his head and came over to Devan. “I’m sorry, m’boy. I hate how he sends yeh with these. You know he takes some perverse pleasure in having yeh do it.”

Devan shrugged. “Well, I can’t keep all of them from dying, but at least I can keep some of them in check.”

“The young man made a mistake; he was over in Rian’s territory, tryin' to get information on some of the odd things going on lately. Ended up crossin' one of Rian’s men in the field. He knew the risks when he went out. Still hate to have lost him, though. Good man. His wife and three boys will miss him, but we’ll take care o’them.”

Devan nodded. “I know you will, Boss. Just…”

O’Brien put his hands on Devan’s shoulders and looked into Devan’s eyes. “None o’this ‘Boss’ nonsense. Tell me, how’s m’boy these days? Rian’s been keepin’ yeh busy and I haven’t been seein’ yeh.”

Devan shrugged. “You know, Liam. Glad Callaghan hasn’t had extra work for me, so been bartending down at Danica’s mostly.”

“How’s the old girl?” O’Brien asked, smiling at him.

Snorting a laugh, Devan found himself smiling despite his mood. “Oi, old girl? She’ll beat ya with the crop of hers if you go callin’ her that.”

“Don’t I know it!” The old man chuckled. “She’s nowhere near the age o’ this ol’ man. She would lay me low with her skills. She is a good mam for all you wayward kids.”

“Not a kid anymore, Liam,” Devan sighed.

“Ah, m’boy, yeh’ll always be the freaked out, soaked to the bone, shivering mess that came in this office ten years ago t’me. Nay, not much has changed in ten years, save Rian’s getting’ more brutal these days. I’m gettin’ the feelin’ he’s after me attention again. Man has his shite.” O’Brien sighed. “I’m glad you are on yer way to being outta this life. Did yeh check into the schoolin’ like I suggested? I know yer Dam would be happy.”

Devan shrugged. “Liam, I told them the same as I’ll tell you. I’m too old to start school right now. I’m already past twenty-five.”

“Nonsense! I heard of a lass who turned seventy while getting her schooling! Please, think on it. You got a talent for language, m’boy. You speak like eight already!”

“I don’t speak eight. Five.”

Shaking his head, O’Brien sighed. “Not everyone can do it on their own. What is it now yeh speak?”

“Ah, English, Russian, Mandarin, Icelandic, and Irish Gaelic…” Devan muttered as his face began to turn red. “I started picking up books for Italian and French a couple weeks ago, but I haven’t started yet.”

“School!” O’Brien spoke with exasperation. “Think yeh on it, aight?”

“Alright, alright. I should go back to Callaghan’s but…” 

“Go take the rest of the day off, m’boy. I’ll deal with Rian if he has anything to say about it. I know this pains you to do this type of thing,” he returned.

Devan nodded. “Sure, Liam. I’m supposed to work tonight at the club anyway. I'd rather not go back to Rian's today,” he sighed but smiled as Liam kissed his cheek.

“Good, good. Check in with me first thing tomorrow morning before you go back out to Callaghan’s place,” he commented and went back around to sit at the large desk.

As usual, as Liam went back into business mode, his accent started to fade. The fact he spoke with his accent when he talked to Devan was an indication of how much he trusted him. It was an honor to hear Liam’s accented voice. His family had immigrated from Monaghan, Ireland in the early 1900s, and the accent and colloquialisms had become mixed up over the years they had been in Boston.

Devan turned and headed out of the room, lost in thought. As he came out of Liam's office, he nearly ran into Sharon Kearney, the house medic and Flannán’s daughter.

“Oh, hey, Sully,” she exclaimed with a smile.

“Sharon, hey, what’s up?” he answered, smiling at her.

“Not much, you look a bit pale, hon?” she inquired and her green eyes reflected the concern she felt.

Devan shook his head. “Ugh, delivery from Callaghan. And dealing with asshole Jake before I left the compound didn’t help.”

“Oh, isn’t he the jerk who keeps trying to convince you to sleep with him?” she stated and crossed her arms across her ample chest.

Devan noted her buttons were hard at work trying to keep her shirt closed. Sharon wasn’t a small girl, she was a fully filled out woman. Her curvy shape often meant she tried to hide her size in too-large clothes, but for some reason, Devan had noted lately she’d taken to wearing more form-fitting clothing. Maybe she had finally taken his advice and quit worrying so much and dressed as she wanted?

Devan nodded. “Asshole doesn’t take no for an answer. One of these days, he’s gonna put his dirty hands on me, and I’m gonna fuckin’ hurt him.”

She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t doubt it, Sully. How’s the new…” she tapered off and tapped her ear.

“Perfect. I’ll never repay him for it,” Devan smiled. “I saw the ticket.”

“Ah, don’t worry, you’re like one of his kids. He doesn’t have his daughters to dote on these days, so he has to spend his money on someone,” Sharon put her hand on his back and kneaded his shoulder a bit. “Take care, okay? And watch out for Jake, though. He’s a sneaky bastard from what I hear. Those guys Callaghan has on the cleaner team scare me.”

“I can handle him,” Devan confirmed and headed back downstairs to leave. Of course, he could handle the bastard. Some creep like Jake would not get the jump on him; he would not allow it.

Once outside, he stripped off his jacket and tossed it in the back and pulled off the blasted tie. He hated ties with a vengeance. He threw it in the back seat as well and slid into the front seat. He drove for a while until he felt he couldn’t drive any longer. He pulled off the road and buried his face in his hands. Panic was starting to creep into his brain and the old urge was coming over him again. This kind of panic attack always happened after a task like this. It was made worse by Jake because he resembled someone Devan didn’t want to remember when he was in this frame of mind.

With shaking hands, Devan unbuttoned both of his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows. He sat for a long time and stared at the inside of his forearms as they rested on the steering wheel. His hands clenched into fists and he stared at the light markings from the tattoos winding around both of his forearms. If under black light, they were visible, but in regular light, there was only a slight discoloration on his skin from the tattoos. Someone looking closely could see them, and the straight scars lying under the tattoos. He focused on the point over his wrist where he could see the deep horizontal scar covered by the broken link in the chain pattern. It was a representation of breaking away from his self-harming habits, and since he had the tattoos done he hadn’t picked up a cutting implement to turn on himself.

At that moment, though, he so desperately wanted to reach into the glove compartment and grab the box cutter. Instead he bit down on his lip hard enough to taste blood in his mouth. He couldn’t. He’d promised too many people he wouldn’t. He’d promised the closest thing he had to a best friend, Lyric. He’d promise his mentor and savior, Danica. He’d promised his parents. He’d promised himself.

He collected himself and took a deep breath and exhaled. He sat back and breathed for a long time until he felt like he could safely drive again. He started the car back up and headed towards the club. He’d be early, but he needed to get there early so he could take the time to get into a better headspace. And he needed to find someone to flog the fuck out of him before the night was over.

As he pulled into the staff parking lot behind the club, he knew Dragon would be there later tonight. Dragon had been seeking him out a lot lately to scene with him, which considering how much Devan was at the club wasn’t odd. He found himself responding, and it was unusual for him since he never had regular Dom/mes. Dragon had been rather possessive lately, watching him when he was playing with others while wearing an expression something akin to annoyance. Normally, having a Dom follow him around like that would have irritated him, but with Dragon he was enjoying making the ill-named Dom jealous. He really had to talk to him about the stupid name, especially if he was going to keep coming and sceneing with him on a regular basis. Dragon. So cliché…

* * * * *

Varick sat beside Janet as the sun began to set outside. It was getting late and he was wondering if the doctor was going to come in and check up on her. He thought he’d seen him earlier but wasn’t sure. It was the Saturday after Cassie’s surgery, and Clair was working an all-day shift at Randy’s. He’d taken to coming by with Clair, and today was the first day he’d come to the hospital by himself. The staff had gotten used to him since Monday, and he wasn’t getting many odd looks. He’d heard one of the nurses mutter about the “motorcycle guy” hanging around. She had been speculating he was Janet’s boyfriend. Wouldn’t she be amused to find out not only was he not into women at all, he wasn’t really into anyone. Until he met the doctor, and now he couldn’t get the boy out of his head.

“Leo, you know you don’t have to keep coming up here almost every day,” Janet exclaimed with a grin. “I’m doing pretty well.”

Varick nodded. “Well, yeah, I know but I want to. And, um, maybe there’s another reason too,” he muttered as the door opened.

Varick hid a smile and held his breath. The doctor didn’t look up from his clipboard as he came in and started speaking. “Janet, I am liking the results so far, but I would like to get you in Monday for a few follow-up tests to make certain nothing is off with your brain function. Assuming everything looks good, we should be able to let you go home Friday afternoon.” He looked up in obvious surprise. Varick had come by, but Clair had been at work. To Varick’s amusement, Kieran’s glance landed on him for a few minutes before he looked at Janet.

“Okay,” Janet said and gave him a soft smile. “Whatever you think is best, Dr. Sung. After you saved my life, I’ll do any test you want to make sure everything is to your liking!”

Kieran nodded, ducking his head as he left the room. Varick was hesitating, but Janet put a hand on his arm. He turned to her in surprise, wondering if he needed to get the doctor back in there. She leaned over and whispered to him instead.

“Go on, before he goes to the next room.”

Varick stared at her and nodded once. Something told him Clair had talked to her or something. He got up and ran out the door to catch the young doctor. “Um, hey, Doc,” he called as he came up beside him.

Kieran looked up at Varick with wide eyes. “Oh, hi. Did you need something? Is Janet in need of something?” Varick could feel the tension from him still. He still looked like he was wound tighter than a coil of string. His hands shook just slightly where he held his clipboard.

“Nah, I just wanted to see if you were goin’ on a break soon.” Varick shifted and put both hands in his jean pockets. He made sure to put his back toward the nurses’ station just in case his nosy nurse friend was within eyeshot.

Kieran blinked and stared for a long time at him. “Um, no, actually I just got back from one…”

“Ah, too bad. Maybe we can go down to the cafeteria if I catch you when you are going on a break. I mean, if you want to,” he commented, watching him carefully.

Kieran stared at him blankly for a few more moments before he spoke. “Um, yes, we could. I… I mean… Yes. I take breaks near lunchtime, most days. I must go. I need to finish my afternoon rounds before I go home,” he informed him and turned to walk away quickly.

Varick watched him go, eyes following the line of his coat where it just bumped out over his ass. He smiled to himself. If he hadn’t arranged to go to the club with Clair and Charles late tonight, he might have asked him to dinner. He didn’t catch the death glare he was receiving from Mary at the nurses’ station as he turned and left. Of course, he wouldn’t have cared if he had seen it.

* * * * *

Devan crossed his arms over his chest and looked around the dimly lit club. He bartended at as Strawberry’s Black on a regular basis. Well, the main floor was a goth dance club and bar. The rest of the place, however, was the real reason he came here. Downstairs, there were two levels of the club were harder to access. The first was the Playroom, where the less serious kinksters went to have their light scenes. The lower level, the Dungeon, was only for those very serious about their playtime. The lowest level was where the pro-Dom/mes and pro-subs were based. Both groups were paid well for their services during the day when the club was closed. They had several rooms set aside for private encounters, both on the lower and bottom level. There was an upper level, called the Mingle Floor. The Mingle Floor looked out onto the nightclub below, and there were often pro-subs on display for various scenes or demonstrations. Actual play beyond arranged shows was not allowed. Due to restrictions prohibiting the use of alcohol on the Playroom and Dungeon floors, alcohol was only allowed on the club level and the Mingle floor. Each floor had two separate bars, but the Playroom and Dungeon floors only served nonalcoholic drinks.

The owners of the club were a pair of Irish twin sisters, Danica and Marissa Patrick. While Danica pro-Dommed downstairs, Marissa ran the Club portion and had no interest in her sister’s work. The name of the club was a play on Danica’s scene name, Strawberry, and Marissa’s penchant for wearing all black. Danica prided herself on her long curly red hair, and dressed in black or green leather which accentuated her large, full figure when she Dommed. Her sister was a Goth girl through and through, and had been since they were teenagers. Of course, Danica’s other life had been the nearly ten years she spent as a professional sex therapist out in Los Angeles and Sacramento, California. It turned out a lot of her clients benefited from both her knowledge bases.

When Danica first opened Strawberry’s, she had given Devan a position as a bartender because he was recovering from his experiences with his last Dom. Danica had already been working with him to heal from the horrible experience. Devan had been well versed in mixing drink before he started because of the situation, and Danica had provided formal training when he turned twenty-one. Due to Devan’s obligations to the O’Brien and Callaghan families, Devan often had to drop shifts. Danica never specifically asked him what he did during the day and when he had to call off, but she was understanding when he was unable to come in. If it had been any other job, he would have been fired long ago.

Down at the other end of the bar stood his closest friend. Well, more like family after what they’d been through together. Danica had also helped her after her own experiences beside Devan. He was glad he could still be beside her.

Tonight, she was wearing a short leather skirt with a white lacy shirt over a camisole. She was wearing a thick leather belt around her waist with D rings on the sides, and her armbands buckled over her long on her biceps. Her garter belt held up the lacy stockings she wore peeking above her knee-high leather boots. Devan liked it on her quite a bit. He moved over and bumped his hip against hers. She turned her icy blue eyes on him and smiled at him. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a long braid to keep it out of her face while she worked the bar.

“Wyck, loving the black leather look tonight,” he smirked in return.

She arched a brow in response. “Oh yeah?”

“Totally need to wear that the next time you wail on me,” he yelled over the din of the music behind them, sort of wishing she was in _that_ mood tonight.

She shook her head, looking at him. “You know I feel bad after I lay into you,” she groaned, looking around the bar. Devan knew she often felt as though she went too far sometimes. He didn’t think that at all.

“Hmm, you know I love it, though. It’s what I want you to do. Not like we’re in some not-romance book. But I liked the leather bra last night during the demo. By the way, my fucking ass is still sore, thanks,” he muttered, giving her a wink.

She shook her head and picked up the clipboard she’d put down earlier. “You’re the one who said use the biggest strap-on we had for the demo. Besides, your ass could take more than a single fat cock, I’ve seen you take two dicks at once, you feckin’ cock whore.”

Devan smirked at her. “Well, I didn’t say it was bad sore, just sore…” he muttered as he looked away. “But I need a flogging tonight.”

“What about the guy who keeps coming in lately asking for you? Dragon or whatever?” she frowned.

“He hits like he’s scared of the fucking flogger,” he muttered. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s got a nice cock, and he can get me going pretty damn good. He might make a halfway decent Dom one of these days if someone trains him right, but he’s so hesitant,” he commented thoughtfully. “But I need a fucking beating tonight after the day I had. Guess you aren’t in a needing of beating the fuck outta me mood, by chance?” he asked hopefully.

“Not tonight, I’m meeting with someone…” she trailed off as she started hurry around the bar. She was trying to hide the blush she knew was rising on her cheeks. She felt the heat. She didn’t want Devan to see it, though, because she knew he’d be protective.

Just as Devan was about to say something about the odd blush on her cheeks, someone came up to order. “Yo, ah, gimme a scotch on the rocks, huh, man? And a strawberry daiquiri for my new girl over there,” he commented as he thumbed over his shoulder at the tables behind him. Devan turned to him and grabbed the scotch. Lyric came back down toward him and grabbed the mixers for the daiquiri.

The guy was a regular on the club floor, and it looked like he had a punk girl waiting over at one of the standing tables where he’d gestured. Lyric set down the red colored drink as Devan shoved the scotch across the bar at him. The customer looked over at her with a lascivious grin. “Say, you got a lot of leather clothes, sweetheart, how do you afford high dollar shit on a bartender’s salary? I mean, you got some sort of hookup for cheap?”

Lyric smiled at him sweetly. “Beating the shit out of pigs like you pays well,” she stated and once again turned to leave the bar area. Devan snorted and almost laughed out loud as the asshole turned and went back to his waiting date.

Before Lyric escaped the bar, Devan looped a finger through one of the D rings on her side and stopped her. “Is it the guy? The one you let fuck you?” he gasped with a concerned glare. “It is, isn’t it!”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fuck you, Lokes. It was just a little head. But yes, it is. He’s bringing his wife by tonight to talk to me. She’s interested in playing; she’s a Domme, and I said I’d consider it.”

Devan leaned against the counter and arched both brows. “Really? She? You’re going to sub to a woman? Or are you just fucking?”

“I don’t know yet, I said I’d think about it,” she grumbled as she grabbed her clipboard where she’d put it down a moment at go to make the drink.

“I’m not sure about it. The guy’s one thing, but a woman…” he stared. She gave him a look saying to leave it for now. “Alright, alright, but I’ll come by and make sure they know I’m watching them.”

“Lokes, you were watching when he was fucking me as it was, I think he gets you’re keeping an eye on things,” she exclaimed with an exasperated sigh as she leaned up and kissed his cheek lightly.

Devan snorted. “Well, I’ll fucking tell her the same damn thing. If she is gonna play with you, she’s gonna be careful or I’ll put on my fucking heels and kick her in the fucking box and knock her down, woman to woman.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get fucking catty, bitch, you aren’t even in Domme mode tonight,” she snarked with a shake of her head. “I’m going around to the other bars to run stock checks. Anything we need back here in the next week or so?” she inquired, glancing over at him.

Devan shook his head. “Nah, Ms. Head Bartender. Go do your job. I get off in a half, then I can find myself someone to beat my ass. Before I go get beat, I’m gonna check on this couple of yours.”

After she was gone, he leaned against the counter behind him, thrumming his long, electric blue nails on it. Now he was sure he was going to sub, he needed to find a Dom/me to fill the needs he had tonight. Dragon would be good, perhaps to relax with afterward, but first he needed to find someone to give him a hard beating. He hadn’t been in a Domme mood lately, now that he thought of it. He’d slipped entirely in his male mode, which was a submissive boy, and in sub mode, he was severely masochistic. He was almost as masochistic in sub mode as he was sadistic in his female Domme mode. At least, he’d left his “day” mode, where he in a strange blend of female and male, and those days he didn’t know what to do with himself. He often just shut down and tried to quell the urges he sometimes struggled with to self-mutilate. He wondered if the reason he loved being whipped, tortured, and beat was to deal with this need to harm himself. It took his mind off his body, though.

If he was in his middle space and wasn’t in the mood to beat someone or get beaten, he just went home. Well, home was relative. He usually ended up going to the Callaghan house and crashing in the spare and hoping nothing major happened before the next day.

Devan was happy to be able to come to Strawberry’s Black regularly since it allowed him to engage equally in his Domme and sub sides, and it took his mind off the Callaghan jobs. After this morning, he needed something a bit violent and a bit rough. He needed to be beaten until he bled, that’s what he needed. He didn’t want sex even though there were plenty unattached Doms around who would fuck him into oblivion while striping his fair skin red. Dragon was on his mind the moment he thought of fucking, and he smiled, imagining his pudgy belly and dark skin. But he hit like he was afraid of hurting someone. It was fine for the average kinksters, but not for a Lifestyler like Devan. No, he didn’t want to be tickled. He just wanted pain. His gaze landed on Mia. He growled under his breath and grinned. He leaned over the bar and yelled out to the Domme who was his favorite one when he was subbing for the pain alone. She was a lesbian and a harsh sadist.

“Mistress Mia!” he yelled, and the tiny, Asian Domme turned and looked at him.

Devan thought she was perhaps his favorite Domme in all Strawberry’s Black, beside Wycked of course. She wore tight leather almost exclusively. Tonight, her black leather corset lifted her smaller breasts up and showed them off well, and she wore a tight red leather miniskirt. He could see the tops of her thigh high stockings peeking out of the tall boots. He usually went without much leather in his Domme mode; usually he wore lacy and sheer things. However, in sub mode, he wore leather, and liked leather on his Dominants. Actually, he and Mia had shared at a sub together a time or two. But today, he thought was in a male and very submissive mood, which was her favorite type of sub. She also was great with the humiliation, and being talked down to was something he also needed tonight. Once he caught sight of her, he was even more sure she was what he needed. The small woman made her way to the bar, her trademark crop resting at her hip on a leather thong. Devan had never asked her where her family was from, honestly, it didn’t matter to him. He smiled at her, winking his blue eye and smiling.

“Ah, if it isn’t my sweet Loki,” she said with a smirk on her lips. “If you’re looking for me, I take it you want to be mine tonight? Or did you want me to help you lay welts on some unsuspecting subby brat?”

Mia didn’t have a regular sub, but she was highly sought out by the masochistic ones. She was a cruel and horribly good Mistress. And Devan was surprised she was available this late in the evening. He handed her a club soda and she took it smiling. Mia, and anyone, really, who was headed downstairs to the dungeons, didn’t drink. The bouncers wouldn’t let someone in if they thought for a moment they were drunk or taking any sort of drugs. That rule was nonnegotiable. Around the bar, some of the goth crowd milled, along with the kink crowd, but up here, there were no real kink displays. A lot of folks would stop and talk in the bar before going downstairs, honestly, it was the place most the arrangements took place. It was neutral ground, and Devan saw more negotiations and contract signings done in the bar than anywhere else. More than once, he’d had to intervene.

 “I’m surprised your services aren’t spoken for, Mistress,” he murmured coyly, fluttering his nearly transparent eyelashes at her. He knew the response would tell her exactly what he wanted tonight. Luckily, he had good timing and the band had a pause between sets just then, so his voice could match his body language. At times like this, his whole postured changed, leaning under her gaze instead of meeting it, lowering his head just enough so he had to look up with his eyes…

Mia arched a sculpted brow at him and smiled. “Well, I wasn’t intending on having a sub tonight, but if you wish my services…I’ll make an exception.”

Every bit of Devan’s blood drained straight to his cock and he flushed. “You mean that, Mistress? You would gift me with your time, Mistress?”

“Yes, dog. Come find me downstairs when you’re off, one hour, I’ll put you in your place, worthless fucking mutt,” she snapped, her face changing, those dark eyes smoldering with heat and her face turning hard and shifted into a severe Domme look. Her voice had shifted into the dominant tone that would drop any sub to their knees. “Usual rules? Flogger, ringed and plugged with your cage, vibrator with orgasm control? You still into giving head to random strangers while you’re bound up?”

Devan swallowed, panting openly for a second before he could get himself under control. “Yes, Mistress. All of that, Mistress Mia.”

“And if you are a minute late, you’ll suffer for it, you disgusting mutt,” she hissed dismissively and turned and left. As she walked away, the band started a new set and the as the music began to thrum, he felt his body tense. Yes, exactly what he needed tonight.

Devan had twenty minutes and he was wishing he’d waited to ask her closer to the end of his shift. He tugged at his tight, red leather pants, and winced. He was glad he’d worn his chastity tonight, otherwise he would be showing off everything through these pants. His grimace was because he was now throbbing. Still, when he turned his back to compose himself, he reached up and tugged harshly on one of his nipple piercings. It would have to do until Mia got hold of him…

* * * * *

Devan made his way down to the playroom and caught sight of Lyric’s blond braid. She was sitting off to the side with a couple. The man, Devan believed he went by Sasha, was a tall and fit man near thirty. Devan could easily tell he was military with the regulation buzzcut he wore his dark hair in and the way he held himself. This was the man Lyric had let throat fuck her. Devan had informed him already what would happen if he fucked up with her. He had another half an hour before he was supposed to meet with Mia so he headed over with his hands in his pockets. Devan was unfamiliar with the woman sitting with Lyric and Sasha, but she was curvy with straight dark blonde hair. She appeared to be the same age as Sasha. Devan knew Sasha relatively well; he was close friends with Charles Ruebern.

“Wyck, hey,” he smirked and glanced between the man and woman.

Lyric looked at him. “Ah, Loki, hey,” she responded. “You met Sasha the other day and this is his wife, Michelle.”

Devan didn’t sit, he just looked between them. “Hey.”

Sasha looked at Devan and then to his wife. “Love, this is the young man I told you about.” As before, Devan noted his slight Russian accent. It wasn’t difficult for him to pick up on, considering Devan’s younger brother was from Russia, and Devan himself spoke fluent Russian.

“Yeah, we talked already,” he commented and then looked at her. “But that was different.”

“Loki, I don’t think you should worry so much-” Lyric started to say but saw the way Devan was staring at her.

Devan shook his head. “I’ll always worry, Wyck.” He turned his gaze on Michelle now, and every bit of submissiveness had disappeared from him. “Now, here’s the deal, lady. Wycked’s my friend, more than that, she’s family. And we’ve been through some shit. You’re the first woman she’s wanted to even consider letting Domme her. Your husband fucking her is one thing, but she doesn’t sub. What happens is I’ll be watching everything you do. If I, for one moment, think you aren’t taking care of her, I will fuck you up.”

With his peace said, he turned and left them. He didn’t think he needed to say anything beyond it.

* * * * *

Varick still wasn’t sure about this. At first, he had thought going out to a night club was a good idea. He did enjoy dancing, and he had yet to really get involved in any of the local scenes. So, before they went to the club, he decided to check out the place online just to see what kind of club it was. It was a goth dace club, but it was also a bondage club. He immediately called Charles and confronted him about wanting to take his sister to a bondage club. He wondered what this guy was thinking?

“Charles, I have an issue with you wanting to take my little sister to this place. No one is going to put her into bondage. She has never had an interest in this sort of thing, and I’m not going to watch anyone hurt my sister. As much as I like you…” he’d begun, seriously fuming at what Charles wanted to do to his sister.

“Fuck, man, I don’t want have _her_ in bondage, I want her to put _me_ in bondage, dude. I’m looking for a strong woman to take over my entire life…” he exhaled and Varick heard the barely contained excitement in his voice. “She’s sexy as sin, dude, I know she’s your sister, but man, I need a woman like her. She’s got everything I need, and she seems like the type who can handle me easy. I need her to take control. I can’t function any other way sometimes.”

At first, Varick didn’t know what to think. He’d called Clair and asked if she knew what Charles really wanted. She told him they’d had a very long and involved conversation about Charles and his desire to have a permanent Dominant. Clair said she thought she might love Charles, and she would do anything to help him deal with his nightmares and flashbacks. She said he had told her not only did he enjoy bondage, it helped control his combat PTSD. Charles told him he cared for Clair, and if she wasn’t interested, it was fine, he’d never bring it up again. Clair had then told him she would at least go with him, but she promised Varick Charles hadn’t placed any expectations on her about it.

With that, Varick agreed to go with them tonight, both to ensure what Charles said was accurate and because he was somewhat curious himself. He’d never experienced the bondage scene before, at least not the real scene. He’d seen a lot of leather as biker in Santa Cruz. While he didn’t see himself as being submissive like Charles apparently was, he thought it might be fun to watch. Varick had very little interest in the sexual aspects of this scene, but the idea of giving away control and taking control fascinated him. Varick had come to the conclusion he just wasn’t into sex no matter how many times he was hit on and propositioned. He liked to watch and look, assuming it didn’t involve watching actual sex between a man and a woman. He appreciated the look and aesthetic of all bodies, but sexual interaction with a woman did not interest him in the least. He grit his teeth thinking about _her._ He shook the thoughts away as he saw Charles driving up.

Charles had come to pick Varick up so they could all head to Strawberry’s Black together. Varick had opted not to drive himself, because he intended to leave with his sister, just in case. Charles drove, and Varick squeezed into the backseat of his compact car. He grumbled about being crowded but his sister merely giggled at him, commenting he should have driven himself.

“So, Varick, um, few rules,” Charles stammered, looking back at a light.

“Rules?” Varick questioned, frowning. It was a club. They did fetish stuff. He thought it meant anything went.

Charles nodded and continued ahead as the light turned green. “Yeah, man, don’t want to get kicked out; they’re serious at this place, okay?”

“Okay…” Varick was becoming a little worried about what kind of rules there would be here.

“Yeah, okay, if they’ve got a collar on, don’t approach them. Like, just don’t, they’re a collared sub. You could real easy piss off their Dominant. If you see someone without a collar, they’re either un-collared or they’re a Dominant, or they could be like you, and checking out the scene. If you don’t want the Doms to approach you, make sure you act…well, dominant. Trust me, the folks here are great, and they don’t have a lot of unattached Doms trying to scavenge for unsuspecting subs who don’t know the rules. Don’t open any closed doors, and try not to stare too much. This is the only club of this type around, because they allow full nudity and sex in the lower levels,” he explained as they pulled into the parking lot in front of a large warehouse type building. Varick seemed to remember this place had been an empty brewery or something when he was a kid.

From the outside, it was rather plain looking, an average warehouse, but there was a large lit sign at the top with the words Strawberry’s Black lit up. The apostrophe was a strawberry dripping chocolate onto the top of the word Black under it. He was sure now; this was definitely the old brewery…

“Weird name for a place like this,” Varick commented, unfolding himself out of the tight confines of the back seat.

“Named after the owners, Strawberry and her twin sister. Well, Strawberry is her scene name, her real name is Danica Patrick. Her sister, Marissa, runs the club part, hence the black part of the name because she’s an old-school goth kid,” he informed him, taking Clair’s hand fondly and smiling at her.

Varick had thought he might fit in wearing his motorcycle leathers. He had been right, because he saw a lot of leather as they walked from the parking lot up toward the building, some more revealing than others. It wasn’t like he was unused to leather wearers. Back in Santa Cruz, he’d spent a lot of time around the leather scene. A lot of motorcycle clubs often saw business from the leather scene, and he’d more than once had talks with members about their gear.

Clair had dressed simply in a black pencil skirt and a white blouse. He saw as they got out of the car that Charles was wearing fatigues, the desert camo looking ones, with a white t-shirt under the jacket. He even had his dog tags and tan combat boots on. He’d thought Charles had a camo jacket but he hadn’t realized it was a full set of fatigues.

“You wear your old army shit to a place like this?” Varick asked as they headed to the end of line leading into the entrance.

“I go by Corporal,” he smirked. “Gotten a bit chubby around the middle since my army days, though, can’t zip it up anymore,” he explained, patting at his slightly protruding belly. “But the bad leg doesn’t help much. Not like I can do PT like this.”

Once they got through the door, they came to a counter. Charles showed some sort of identification card and the bored attendant put a wrist band on him. Charles took a form and filled in Varick and Clair’s names as guests and paid Varick’s entrance fee.

Charles glanced over at him. “I get to bring in one guest for free, but I have to pay for you dumb ass, unless you decide to get membership.”

 Varick and Clair both showed their ID and were waved through so the next person could pay to get in. They followed Charles into the bar area by the entrance. Another bar could be seen close to the stage where a DJ was set up. The music was a what Varick recognized as gothic rock or darker alternative rock. So far, it looked like every other club he’d been in. He noticed there was a second level, but it looked like it was a terrace with mirrored glass all around it. As they walked across the path between the dance floor and the seating area, Varick saw by the stairs leading up, there was a man in a suit who let people in or turned them away.

“This way!” Charles said, nearly running as he pulled Clair along. She grabbed Varick to pull him behind her.

They came to a door and there was a man standing there like at the other stairs. Varick looked up to a very large dark-skinned man with a very shiny bald head. He stood perhaps three or four inches taller than Varick. His nametag read “Jerome”. He looked to be a serious bouncer type. Varick decided he would not want to mess with Jerome. Charles nodded to him, showing him the blue wristbands they wore. He glanced at Clair and Varick and gave them a smile. He opened the door to let Clair and Varick follow him down the stairs. The stairs were lit with candle-like lights in holders and had a flickering effect. The stairs emptied into a small room with what looked like a coat check with a changing room beside it. A young woman who looked very bored leaned against the counter but stood up when they came in.

“Corporal, how you doin’?” she inquired smiling. “Haven’t seen you in a while, love. Oh my, this your new love…or loves?” she asked, arching her brow as she looked between Clair and Varick. She pushed the sign in sheet over to him.

Charles shook his head. “Nah, Syn, you know I’m not into dudes. But this is my girlfriend, Clair. The brute behind me is Varick, her older brother. Guys, this is Syn, she’s the manager over the Playroom here,” Charles told them with a smile.

Syn nodded to them stepping forward to extend a hand toward Varick, then Clair. She was shorter, probably not much over five feet, with an extremely long platinum blonde braid. She wore an outfit that looked almost like a child’s costume…a short fluffy skirt, and a pair of stockings with Mary Jane type shoes.

“Good to meet you, new to the scene?” she wondered, smiling and Varick noticed her eyes were a very clear, light blue.

“Ah, yeah, Charles…Corporal?” Clair started, looking at him. Charles nodded with a big smile. “He…wants me to be his Domme, and I wanted to see what it was about. My brother here came along tonight to see what everything is like.”

Syn nodded, looking at their wristbands. “The blue bands are good for Playroom and Dungeon levels. In that case, please sign these consent forms, as they cover both levels,” she reached down and pulled two clipboards from under the counter. “Since this is your first visit as guests, you can check the box about possibly being interested in full membership, and if you come in next time, we can set it up for you. Then, way you don’t have to fill out all the forms every time you come by. Membership costs, of course. The rates are listed there by the check box. This way you can think about it and see what you’re interested in.”

“Consent forms?” Varick asked as he took one of the clipboards.

Syn nodded. “We ask everyone sign them on entrance to the lower levels. Covers our liability and gives you an overview of the things that might happen. Please report any violations of the rules to one of our security. We have a no tolerance policy.”

Varick nodded and looked it over. They tolerated no drug use, no alcohol use, no bringing in of outside food and drink…pretty standard he thought. Then it listed violations which were grounds for immediate ejection from the premise. Most were things he would imagine could cause someone to get hurt, like having a scene with someone who was drunk or high, not listening to a person’s limits, aggressive pursuit of a sub, and any violations of consent. He signed and handed it over to her and she filed it in a file cabinet.

“The change room is provided free of charge if you like, and we have free check for items. There is a small store where you can purchase boxes of condoms, lubricants, basic cuffs, collars, and accessories, as well as snacks and drinks for aftercare purposes,” she reported with a smile. “There’s a couple bars on each floor with fountain drinks and alcohol free mixed drinks. There’s a complimentary area on each floor on the far-left hand side of the floor. You’ll find a buffet table with various things available, bottled water, some sodas, and a couple bowls with condom and lube singles you can take.”

“What…what’s aftercare?” Clair asked, frowning as she signed her own forms.

Charles hugged her tightly. “You’ll find out all the details, but basically after a scene, we subs sometimes experience things called subspace and sub-drop, but that’s a lengthy discussion I’ll leave to Mistress Strawberry, provided you want to hear more. The more common details of aftercare are taking care of any wounds or providing warmth, snacks, stuff like that. All very important.”

“Oh, you’re in for a treat,” Syn spoke with a smirk.

“Oh yeah? Someone on the stage?” Charles asked.

Syn sighed, looking sad for a second. “Yes, and I’m on duty here for another two hours. Mistress Mia is giving Loki her time tonight.”

Charles gasped. “Oh, I have to watch this…” he exclaimed, licking his lips and then looking at Varick and Clair. “Come on, you’ll see,” he smirked, pulling Clair after him through the curtained exit from the entry.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Autism Self-Advocacy Network  
> • info@autisticadvocacy.org  
> • http://autisticadvocacy.org/  
> National Alliance on Mental Health  
> • 1-800-950-6264  
> • http://www.nami.org/  
> Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance  
> • 1-800-826-3632  
> • http://www.dbsalliance.org/  
> Transgender Youth Equality Foundation  
> • 207-478-4087  
> • http://www.transyouthequality.org/  
> Trans Student Educational Resources  
> • TSER@transstudent.org  
> • http://www.transstudent.org/  
> Stopbullying.gov  
> • https://www.stopbullying.gov/  
> PACERS National Bullying Prevention Center  
> • 1-800-537-2237  
> • http://www.pacer.org/bullying/  
> Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration  
> • 1-877-SAMHSA-7  
> • https://www.samhsa.gov/  
> National Suicide Prevention Hotline  
> • 1-800-273-8255  
> • https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
> Suicide Prevention Resources  
> • http://www.sprc.org/  
> American Foundation of Suicide Prevention  
> • https://www.afsp.org/  
> The American Association of Suicidology  
> • http://www.suicidology.org/  
> Crisis Text Line  
> • Text "Start" 741-741  
> • http://www.crisistextline.org/  
> S.A.F.E. Alternatives  
> • 1-800-DONTCUT  
> • http://www.selfinjury.com/  
> Trans Lifeline  
> • US: 1-877-565-8860 Canada: 1-877-330-6366  
> • https://www.translifeline.org/  
> GLBT National Youth Talk  
> • 1-800-246-7743 (M-F, 4pm-12am EST/Sat, 12pm-5pm EST)  
> The Trevor Project  
> • 1-866-488-7386 (24/7)  
> • Text “Trevor” 1-202-304-1200 (F 4pm - 8pm EST)  
> • http://www.thetrevorproject.org/  
> Disaster Distress Helpline  
> • 1-800-985-5990  
> • Text "TalkWithUs" 66746  
> National Sexual Violence Resource Center  
> • 1-877-739-3895  
> • http://www.nsvrc.org/  
> RAINN- Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network  
> • 1-800-656-4673  
> • https://www.rainn.org/  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline  
> • 1-800-656-4673  
> The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence  
> • 303-839-1852  
> • http://www.ncadv.org/  
> The National Domestic Violence Hotline  
> • 1-800-799-SAFE  
> • http://www.thehotline.org/  
> The National Resource Center on Domestic Violence  
> • 1-800-537-2238  
> • http://www.nrcdv.org/  
> Warm Ear Line  
> • 1-866-WARM EAR (927-6327)  
> • http://warmline.org/  
> National Human Trafficking Resource Center  
> • 1-888-373-7888  
> • Text BeFree (233733)  
> National Runaway Safeline  
> • 1-800-RUNAWAY (786-2929) (24/7)  
> • http://www.1800runaway.org/  
> USA National Child Abuse Hotline  
> • 1-800-422-4453 (24/7)  
> National Safe Place  
> • Text SAFE and your current location to the number 69866 (24/7)  
> • http://nationalsafeplace.org/  
> National Eating Disorders Association  
> • 800-931-2237 (M-F, 11:30 am-7:30 pm EST)  
> • http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/  
> ANAD: National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders  
> • 630-577-1330 (M-F,12 pm-8 pm EST)  
> • http://www.anad.org/


End file.
